


The Art of Solidarity

by RisingAnarchy



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (but like forced suicidal thoughts idk), Aftermath of Torture, Amnesia, Angst, Awesome Pepper Potts, BAMF Pepper Potts, BAMF Tony Stark, Domestic Avengers, Drug Addiction, Electrocution, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, Isolation, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is Trying His Best, Peter Parker is a Mess, Poor Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Psychological Torture, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Amnesia, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Torture, Tortured Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23625850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisingAnarchy/pseuds/RisingAnarchy
Summary: From six months to eighteen. A simple bank robbery turned abduction. Peter didn’t expect his peaceful Saturday night to go so haywire in a matter of minutes. As his past turns to grey, his new life at the hands of his captors the only thing he can remember, Peter is undeniably broken. Suffering from amnesia, he finds himself at a loss when a mysterious man comes to rescue him at his lowest point. But Peter can’t help but think... maybe the man isn’t so mysterious.Tony Stark loses his kid and doesn’t find him until a year and a half later. The only problem is, he doesn’t remember who he is.{ON HIATUS UNTIL MARCH 2021}
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Peter Parker, Clint Barton & Peter Parker, Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Original Male Character(s), Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Thor, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 126
Kudos: 348





	1. Prologue- An Aced Spanish Test Means Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so excited to post this, you all have no idea! This has been in my drafts forever. And when I mean forever I mean, FOREVER. I’m kinda proud of it too, not gonna lie. I really hope you all can enjoy this as much as I do. Thanks for visiting!
> 
> Warnings:  
> -References Torture  
> -Amnesia  
> -References to Drugs  
> -References to Kidnapping

The day Peter got an A+ on his Spanish test (the one he studied endlessly for) was, coincidentally, the same day he never made it home. And like how most stories start, the night was stormy and the air was numbing, and consequentially, pins and needles prodded their way across his body and as haughty as Peter was, he could help but grimace. He was no longer fighting against rain, however, the feeling of cold water pricking his skin was still relevant today. As despondency ran its way through his bloodstream, the youngster bucked his legs back against the hard, rust-stained brick wall. Filled with acrimony and sorrow, Peter sobbed.

That was all he could do.

All he did was howl into the empty, blackness despite knowing he was completely alone. There was no one to guide him towards the light or the blissful peace of day. He was an empty hand, reaching in vain to grab another.

The room was small, only about four feet by four feet. The ceiling hung low too, so much so Peter couldn't stand up straight. It was all brick. The same type that made up nearly all of New York's buildings. The hatch directly above his head was formed from a heavy metal, locked tight. Even Peter couldn't break it open, meaning it's material had to have been vibranium or some sort of bi-product.

The boy was feeble. Fragile, even. Bones so thin and breakable, they were like twigs snapping in the harsh winter winds.

There were no sounds other than the agonizing screams coming from Peter's mouth. Other than that- nothing but complete and utter silence. Peter despised it. Ironically, it was vociferous. And because of this deafening silence, Peter kicked his bleeding foot against the walls again, a desperate attempt to make some form of noise.

His suit was ruined. Ripped and tattered like red rags hanging off his gaunt body. Peter was going to tell Tony to make the material stronger, maybe not fabric, so it wouldn't rip so easily. All that was just distant memories. Memories of a better time, when crime-fighting was innocent and for the good of the people. Before everything became too deliberate, too repeated, too calculated.

He should have been smarter. Peter shouldn't have been so off guard. He was too smart for that.

That night, with the rain, was a fluke.

Peter screamed his throat raw like he had done a million times over. His small, pale hands enclosed over his ears as he rocked in a fettle position on his side. The ground was nothing but cold, stabbing concrete. Peter remembers, just barely, that when he first arrived he had tried to break the concrete and brick, because with his super strength it was beyond easy. He could do so with his pinky. But once the second week passed and he realized he was too weak to break through, he assumed there was something going on under the radar. Drugging, perhaps.

When he first started the screaming, it had been on a whim, and he was left utterly confused freeware. Vowing it would never happen again, he blacked out for the first time that day.

He never stopped screaming.

His foot hit the wall once more, and this time, Peter can hear the sickening crack and feel the burning, fiery pain of the bones in his foot shattering like glass. Another scream, broken but just as loud as the others. 

_You have to keep yelling._

_They'll hear you if you yell._

_Don't stop. Never stop._

_Louder, Peter. They can't hear you._

_Don't you want to leave? Louder. They'll find you then._

So he listens to the voices and he screams. Hopefully, someone out there can hear his arduous yells from outside the room.

"Out!" He shrieks, high-pitched and deranged. He contorts onto his back, arching up as his eyes bulge from his hollowed skull. Peter crushed his fingers against the floor, the loud cracks echoing after. They've already been broken before, now the bones were just fracturing under the pressure. "Out! Get. Me. Out. Out! Let me out!"

No one answers his calls. It's just complete silence that follows, as always.

He thrashes and rams his back against the stone wall until he can feel blood begin to gush from open wounds. The cuts against his wrist, from Heaven knows where, weakly trickled the red substance. He doesn't stop. Peter needs to get out. He needs to. He needs to tell May he passed his test. He doesn't care how long it's been, he wants her to know all those lonely nights of studying were worth it.

Little did Peter know, May had long forgotten about that stupid Spanish test. She forgot about it after the first day. So, surely, it's been out of her mind for these past six months.

Six months.

Six whole months of complete solitude beside the occasional hand that pops in from the latch and throws in food and water to keep him alive.It's nothing good, just stale bread or bagels. Cinnamon-Raisin bagels to be exact. Peter doesn't even know how he's still alive. He shouldn't be.

The loneliness is getting to him. Day after day it gets worse. The voices- those damn voices- continue to get louder as the days go by. They sound so real. So, so real.

"Let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out!" He sounds like a banshee wailing into the night sky. Still, there is no answer. He sobs. "Please! Tony! May, please! I wanna- I wanna go home. Where is... where is home? I don't know. I don't know. Help, me. I need to get out of here."

It doesn't feel like six months, and in all actuality, Peter had lost track of time after the first three weeks. He used to count each deliberating day by when the food comes. If he had been counting correctly, he was given the atrocious cinnamon-raisin bagel and water every other day. He used to wait idly by the hatch for these singular days, craving the sweet taste of the dried fruit, carbs and the silk-like water to quench his thirst. Now, however, it was nearly impossible for Peter to find the will to even wait.

He can't even remember the last time he ate, the small mountain of moldy bread and murky water bottles that sat in the corner, decaying, were evidence of this unknown.

Even as his strength depleted, Peter fought the urge to give up by reminding himself that there was a chance someone on the outside (he convinced himself that it was no longer "outside", but rather "the outside", as he can't remember much from his earlier life) may hear him. Maybe even rescue him.

This was merely all wishful thinking.

Peter thinks back to his Spanish exam, the only thing that provides him comfort anymore, and tells himself feverishly that he aced it and his family was proud. Tony would be proud if he knew, and Peter would make sure that he'd know one day. When and if he ever escaped.

"La Rosca means bagel. La Rosca means bagel. Bagel, bagel, bagel."

_No one cares about bagels._

_Why aren't you trying to escape?_

_You're too weak. Give up._

_Scream, you idiot._

_It's almost like you don't want to go home._

Home was now just a distant memory. A shining light at the end of a cold, desolate tunnel. A long tunnel, at that. As each day passed, Peter found that the light darkened considerably into a dull hue of white, so small, it appeared to be a star of some sort.

He wanted to see the stars one last time.

One last time before he truly gave up, like the voice had told him to. In a way, maybe it was best. Hope was never a good thing, Peter had found, as it always led to nothing. He had lost all hope by the first month (or at least he supposed it was then, though there was a chance it may have been even before that).

In reality, Peter "hoped" to see the stars one last time, not wanted. He couldn't care less about the huge balls of gas and fire.

But he wanted to see home again.

And if home looked like a star, then he sure as all Hell wanted to see home before he let go.

So much time passes before he hears from the voices again. By the time they come back, the pile of moldy substances had tripled in size, and the hands are getting more desperate to keep him alive. Desperate enough to let his jaw fall into the cup of their hands and gently hand feed him the food and grey water. Peter doesn't mind, the hands are warm. Days, maybe even weeks (maybe even months) go by before he hears the small voices changing in his head. They're different this time. This time, they aren't as demanding.

_Let go._

_It's okay to just let go._

_It's not your job to hold on._

_No one blames you for deciding to say goodbye._

_They don't have to hear you._

_You don't have to scream anymore._

The conversations in his head lasted days on end, restless as he could no longer sleep, his eyes held open with some ghastly, invisible entity. One day, they were chastising him for even considering giving up, the other, they ushered him that it was perfectly okay to not have the strength anymore. They often said crude things to him, in fact, they were often very dispassionate towards his decisions. However, it seemed as though just when he was prepared to say goodbye forever, they demanded he keep screaming until his lungs went out. Coincidentally, when he had the will to carry on, they hushed him and allowed him to release his grasp from the hand he hung from.

Today, he decides, he will say goodbye.

Goodbye to who, well, he doesn't exactly know. The names, just as the faces had done weeks ago, had flung from his mind. He remembers a man, and Peter knows he knew the name days ago, as well as a woman. There are more, but their genders have been lost on him completely.

In saying goodbye, he offers an apology.

He was sorry for many things. For not being vigilant enough to protect himself, and not trying hard enough to escape while he still had the strength to do so. Even though the voices comfort him and say he is allowed to die in peace, he still apologizes for giving up completely, as that was not what he aspired to do going into this Hell he was forced into. Peter apologizes to the faceless people he let down; the same people who could never find him.

If tomorrow never comes, he decides, at least he knows he made it through one more day than yesterday.

Suddenly, the boy felt paralyzed. His legs stopped kicking, finding a final resting place against the dirty ground that felt so familiar to him, he might as well consider it his new home away from home. His broken fingers, slowly and barely mending themselves for the hundredth time over, came to a halting spot without bothering to finish the job. For once, his eyes felt heavy. The chilly draft that seemed to live in the small hole as well decided to encase the small boy, he wrapping him in a cold hug.

Another sign that it was about time.

"Goodbye," He whispered quietly into the darkness, his lips encrusted with blood and missing chunks of flesh from his anxious habit of chewing. It's barely a whisper, raspy and breathy. Peter glances around one last time, just to make sure he didn't see a familiar face hidden in the darkness. There is nothing, Peter knows this, and his heart is too washed out and dull to even glimmer with the thought that he may see someone. He doesn't remember who he loves, or who is waiting for him at home, or what test he aced. He supposed that it no longer matters. "Goodbye brick. Goodbye... goodbye metal. Goodbye raisins. Goodbye, everything."

His delicate fingers grace the cement floor and rip at the flesh.

Peter closes his eyes with a tired sigh and finally feels peace within his body. His chest heaved one last time, but he can still hear the slowly of his heart echoing through his chest. He wishes the darkness one last goodbye and smiles.

And then, a light.

It's blinding and furious and painful all at once. He wishes for the darkness once more, feeling comfortable knowing there was nothing in the dark. Everything was in the light, though. Pain and misfortune. Hell, there was darkness within the light.

A voice is screaming and for once... it isn't his own.

He stopped screaming.

"... found him, boss!" Peter misses the first part. It's another voice other than his own, and it feels almost painful in his ears. He heard footsteps (he had forgotten what those sound like) and sobbing not unlike his own.

_Don't scream._

_They found you._

_You gave up but they found you._

_Let them scream for once._

This time, a different voice is yelling. That's two new voices, wasn't it? Who knew how many things could evolve from giving in?

"Peter?!"

That's my name, Peter wonders. It sounded like a question, but inwardly, it was clarification. His own name had almost slipped his mind in his last few moments of life.

Fingers graze his face. It feels like red hot cherry-pokers stabbing all over, so he cringes and lets out a strange cry. Tears prick his eyes (he's surprised he even has any more tears to cry), but an odd force inside him tells him to keep them back best he can. Lest he make the stranger touching his face worried, it would certainly be because of his tears. People didn't seem to like crying, especially when boys did it. Even if everything else was a long lost, forbidden ghost of a memory, Peter remembers vividly being bullied for his sensitivity. The woman- or was it a man?- had told him to never hold back his feelings, but currently, he didn't really know how to feel.

Who was touching him?

Was there truly something more beyond his death that he should have been hoping for?

He had always assumed that there was nothing. Nothing. Not blackness, not blinding lights and trumpets of ecstasy, or fiery gates of torment. Had he been wrong to assume all he's done in life meant nothing?

Did this mean he shouldn't have given up?

It could have been his imagination playing tricks on him, as it tended to do. Peter used to dream of the hand that gifted him food and water would reach down and pet his head. He craved contact from anything, human or otherwise. Sometimes, he was granted this wish to coax him into eating, or rewarding him.

But now that he was feeling the warm skin of another press again his own, grey completion, he was almost afraid.

Peter opened his eyes, but not his mouth. He could no longer scream, he concluded, as his throat hurt far too much.

He was met with light at first, as he expected, but it certainly wasn't as bright as he had first imagined. I'm his daydreams, the light was always illuminating all around it, but very far off and barely noticeable. This light, however, was dim and warm and comforted him in a way nothing else ever had.

The hand-brushed over him again, and this time, it felt like nothing he'd ever felt before.

The skin against his felt like the softest silk and linen every created. It felt like warm coffee ghosting over his lips, overrun with sugar and delicate cream. The fingers ran so gently, he figured he were the thinnest or glass. The hand was large, but not big enough to scare the boy. A thumb rubbed against his open eye, closing the one for a second, which helped shape the figure in front of him. Peter choked on his own tongue.

"Peter," The voice sighed, and the boy suddenly felt the presence of warm breath ghosting over his face. A pair of lips landed a kiss on his temple, but it was barely a touch, as the figure seemed afraid to touch him too hard. The man (or at least he sounded like one) smelt of a faint musk masked with a fresher scent of a rose, deepened with something close to mahogany. Under all that, Peter thought he smelled oil and grease. "Peter, thank god. You don't- don't try to move, alright? I've gotcha."

"Wh're 'ou?" Peter barely whispered out.

A choked gasp let his ears and he flinched from the sound. A ring of apologies met his ear quickly after the assault on his eardrums.

"It's me," The voice cried quietly into Peter's chest. "It's me: Tony."

Peter tried the name on his tongue, but it didn't quite fit the shape of his mouth. He couldn’t quite get the 'O' quite right. It was even difficult to pronounce the short name.

"T'ny," Peter whispered into the light. He still couldn't see this so-called 'Tony's' face. However, the light was starting to diminish, though he still felt the man's hands and saw the outline of his figure. Peter slowly blinked to fade away the black, but it refused to leave his vision. He tried the name again. "T'ny."

"Yeah, Pete," The man was crying now, furious tears that rolled onto Peter's face. To the boy, it felt like rivers of rapids roaring from a waterfall, only to make landfall on his bruised and crimson face. It hurt. "That's me. You remember."

But he doesn't. That's the thing, he doesn't remember who this man is. He cannot, for the life of him, recall a Tony from anywhere in his life. Peter let out a shuttering sigh and leans into the warm hand that cupped his cheek. For as much as it burned, it felt almost liberating to feel something other than the utter frigidness of the room. He was on The Outside now, which meant life, color, and the sun; three things Peter hadn't seen for what he can only remember was his whole life. There was nothing before this.

"We need to get him to Cho and Banner quick. He doesn't look like he'll last much longer."

This voice is different, quieter and hesitant, but with a much thicker accent than Tony's. He sounds familiar, but like everything else other than the dark, he cannot quite place a finger on what it is. Or in this case, who it is.

Peter feels Tony nod.

"Yes, yes. You're right. Okay, Peter, were going to have to move you so we can get you all fixed up. Can you hear me, bud? Can you stand?" Peter would have laugh at that if he remembered how to force the sound from his throat. Unfortunately, that sound seemed to foreign to even attempt to reenact. "Peter?"

He could not stand. That was seen quite literally when the boy fell instantly into Tony's awaiting arms. Or at least, he assumed they were Tony's. Peter still couldn't see anything except a glittering silhouette of the man who came to his rescue.

Was that what this was?

Was he being rescued? Finally?!

Whomever this Tony fellow was, Peter knew he was instantly in love. Not the way Princess Leia and Han Solo loved each other, as he suspected the man- Tony- was much older than him (those names sounded familiar in his mind, though it was difficult to recall where he knew them from). Besides, he didn't even know if that type of connection was even possible for a boy like himself. He barely even recognized love anymore. Peter didn't make the connection that those little pets that came upon his head on occasion from the people above weren't love- they weren't an expression of admiration. It may have been affection, sure, but not love. No one could ever love him.

Not when filth caked his innards. Dirty words and humiliating insults lined his skin.

A branded burn marks his chest under his suit.

Peter belongs to something.

To someone.

Someone that isn't Tony, or the other man that had been talking. He was property of the hands that filtered through and offered him food and brushed his hair back off his sweaty forehead. They would miss him, maybe, if he just up and left them like this. And to be honest, Peter missed the calloused fingers running across his jaw and through his hair, like a dog longed for scratches or belly rubs.

He feels his body being laid down on cool concrete, similar to that of inside his home. His home being the small room he had been in for heaven knows how long.

Peter closes his eyes and allows himself to think, his body to exhausted to move.

Peter couldn't put a name to love. It was a foreign feeling, as nothing existed outside of the four by four hell hole he had grown into. He was sure of this as taking a trip down memory lane proved more enigmatic than he first assumed. There was nothing before stale bagels and drugged water. On the other hand... Tony felt real. Most of all, Tony's hands felt real, holding him in a vice-like grip as if he'd simply cease to existed if he dared to let go.

Tears sprang at his eyes at the idea of feeling again.

The other man- now dubbed Not Tony- muttered something small and fragile about Peter's appearance, which the boy wasn't able to fully pick up on. He was too enamored with Tony's fingers on his cheek. The words- Peter remembered- the words, flipped an imaginary switch in Tony's brain. Peter assumed at least, as the older man broke down with a cry of ignominy and whispered a string of sincerity and apologies.

"Cryin'," The boy's lacerated hand wipes blindly at the older male's triturated face. He felt along the moist skin and signed at the queer contact. Touch-starved, he relished in the skin of the strange man.

His body was levitating.

Not Tony began to shake something in his hands. It was similar to the jingle of the tags on the collar around his neck.

 _'Subject .035- Peter B. Parker- 5,840 Days Relevant_ -' Read the first. The second one was bigger and heavier and weighed his head down, so even if he could see the stars, it would be nearly impossible to truly do.

The second read: ' _Experiment #1- Isolation; Partitioning Senses; Electrocution; Intro. To Suicidal Tendencies via Substance’_

It was by far the only thing that gave him enjoyment. He liked listening to the little clinking of the metal. He's stretch the tag as far away from his neck as they dared to go and read and re-read the tag despite the darkness. He had long since forgotten what the words meant. He could only assume, and if life taught him nothing, he'd at least remember that assumptions did him no good.

Tony's voice startled him back to his reality.

"Yes, I'm crying. You've been gone for too damn long."

"How lo’?” Peter continued his gentle assault on the older man's face, relishing in pure skin.

Tony doesn't answer, and soon, the boy forgets all about his question. Not Tony had disappeared after the older man had dismissed him, complimenting him for his work and thanking him endlessly. The man that smelled of oil and stale coffee (coffee, he hadn't remembered what that even was, but the smell matched the word he supposed) came back after a moment of silence, followed by a string of whirring noises and clanking metal.

The boy opened his eyes, met with bubbling darkness and nebulous shapes, a blurry silhouette, and a bright blue hue in the shape of a circle approaching from the only body he could see.

Maybe that was Tony's heart.

Peter's eyes travel down to his own chest and he is met with darkness. He must not have a heart.

"Alright, kiddo, we're going for a little ride here, okay? Just to the tower and I promise it'll be short, you won't even notice we took off- that's how short it will be. That okay with you? You love flying with me."

Do I? Peter questions, nestling into the hand that rest of his cheek as if it were his lifeline. Warm, his mind wanders, so warm.

What was the question?

"Yeah," he answers anyway.

"Alright, okay. Good. Now, just hold on real tight for me. Can you do that?"

Peter's levitating again.

A strong, bitting and sharp arm supports under his knees while another wrapped around his upper back and lower shoulders, leaving the only comfortable place for his head on the man's collarbone. It's parky, like the rest of him, and feels similar to the metal rods they jabbed in every once in awhile, making him squirm to give him some life. A spark, they used to laugh (they, being a mystery to Peter) we they prodded him with little shocks of electricity. That only did so when he was bad, though.

If he was a good boy, like they told him to be, he'd be left alone and even remunerated with those signature fondling sessions he loved so much.

He created a mantra: be good, get good; be bad, get bad. Of course, if he were in his right mind it would have been a much more grammatically correct sentence, but in his constant haze, that's the best he could come up with.

"La Rosca mea’s bagel," Peter says suddenly.

Spanish test. He got a good great on his Spanish test, didn't he? That was the thing he aced! That made him good.

"What? You know what- never mind. Just hold on, Petey. Come on, put your arms around my neck."

"Was right?" The boy mutters as he obeys the older man, wrapping his thin, twig arms around the man's metal neck as securely as he could. When did he turn into metal? Metalman. Metalman. Who knew people could be made out of metal?

Hey, where did Tony go?

"Uhm, yes. Yeah, kiddo, you were right, and when we get back home you can have as many bagels as you want," The man (it sounded like Tony, but Tony wasn't cold) promises him this in hopes that in all his time in captivity, he missed some stupid piece of circular bread more than anything. When in reality, the last thing he wanted was a bagel. "Anything- you name it- and you can have it. All you have to do is say the word."

That sounds nice. Peter's fingers tighten then, and release suddenly when the man begins walking, heavy metal footsteps echoing in the boy's beyond sensitive ears.

The skeleton of a boy allows one of his hands to settle atop the metal exterior of the man, and slowly pat along the cool surface. He still can't see anything other than the outline of a jagged man, but petting the metal brings him comfort even if he can't see who it is. It was a little thank you, the patting. Just like how the hands used to reward him when he was good, he decided to return the favor to this being.

"Where we goin'?" Peter finally asks as he places his hands back to their original position.

The metal man- Tony he decides, to resolve his pounding migraine- didn't stop, even if it was obvious that he was confused with the random petting. Soon, the boy feels something he hasn't felt before.

The air is cool.

And the sound of something (leaves, he remembers, and leaves are on trees) rustling in the background meets his ears.

The smell is indescribable. It's fresh. Something other than moldy bread, stale water, sweat, and feces. It smells sweet, and of many other things, he can't begin to remember ever sensing before. They're warm smells, the best he can describe them, and contrast in the most perfect ways against the cold air. Warm smells, Peter thinks, and for a small moment, his lips quirk up at the silly thought.

He was in pain but didn't know it. Not yet, at least.

His mind is slipping.

More so than he ever thought it could, and suddenly, the simplest of thoughts and objects are gone from his memory. All he can think about is Tony, and only Tony.

"We're going home. God, kid, Pepper will be so happy to see you. Hell! I'm so happy to see you- you have no idea how long we've been looking. The police gave up after the second month but we... we never gave up."

Where was home? He always thought that home was in that room, considering he couldn't remember anything from before then. It didn't really matter. He'd go anywhere Tony went. The man already proved himself as trustworthy by petting him and having warm hands and a soft voice. If that wasn't enough, Peter didn't know what was.

"Long?" The boy asks again, because six months in hindsight, wasn't crazy long. Sure, half a year went by, but it wasn't years or anything. He couldn't have been missed.

"A year and a half."

Oh, Peter thinks, and suddenly, their off the ground and the boy's stomach flips at the realization that they're flying. He's been gone for half a year.

And he can't remember a thing.


	2. Bonnie and Clyde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A routine robbery turns south when Peter makes the fatal mistake of underestimating these “criminals”. And to make matters worse, he was completely void of any communication with the others. Parker Luck strikes again and Peter doesn’t realize he can’t get out of this one.
> 
> (Read Note- very important!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This note is literally so important!!! If you skip, you will be confused! Every chapter takes place at a different time. In other words, this chapter takes place before the kidnapping, the second takes place after; so on and so forth. SECONDLY, you may have noticed that Peter mentioned Aunt May in the prologue, but in this chapter, he mentions that she is dead. This juxtaposition is purposeful, so don’t be confused. Also, there is repetition in this chapter, so if you see something that seems similar to a part before that, it was intentional! Don’t be confused :). 
> 
> Now back to our regularly scheduled program...
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Kidnapping  
> -Drugging  
> -Reference to Guns/Bullets

(AU: You better have read the above note! If you didn’t, I will be very disappointed in you. Plus, you’ll be confused... so go read it! I’m serious. If someone comments something about what is mentioned in the note, I will freak the heck out. Thank you, love you all!)

_Eighteen months earlier..._

Peter officially hates Saturdays.

Most because it’s nearing four in the morning and there's absolutely nothing going on the next day, meaning he doesn't need to get up early (sounds like a dream to the normal teenager). Indicating that going to bed earlier was futile and selfish, but he wants to sleep, so badly, that he's contemplating just laying down for a nap on the roof of a building until Karen notifies him of a crime.

He quickly debunks this plan when he realizes Karen was offline.

It was his own fault anyway.

Who knew accidentally poking the eyeball on his suit one too many times would completely crash a high-tech AI system? Not Ned, the poor sap, who was innocently poking around the optics with wide eyes and lips in the shape of an 'o'. Peter allowed him to, obviously not realizing too much pressure against the glass would cause the whole thing to pop off!

Who puts an AI's control center in the eye anyway? Peter thought when he had to walk shamefully into Tony's lab that fateful day, mask in one hand, eye in the over. 

It wasn't until the man realized the system was in need of an upgrade that Peter was ready to go on patrol again.

AI or no AI, he was going crime-fighting.

Tony wasn't as supportive of this idea, but the determined look in the boy's eyes told him to just leave it. The teen was strong enough (more importantly, smart enough) to weave his way out of trouble. And if it turns out he wasn't, the billionaire was just a call away. Besides, the crime rate had gone down significantly since Spider-Man had come around. So much so, that Tony doubted the kid would encounter anything bigger than a simple shoplifter or mugger. And Heaven knows those idiots couldn't do much except run in the opposite way of an impending spider-themed superhero.

Back the matter at hand, Peter just wanted to sleep. Of course, turning in for the night was obviously a choice, but something told him to wait around just a few minutes longer.

Call it a sixth sense, or Spider-Sense, whatever! The teen couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen. Something big, at that.

However, after some careful consideration and the fact that the bags under his eyes were already an inch thick and the darkest purple known to man, Peter decides sleeping isn't even worth it anymore. It's already four, meaning Pepper woke up in two hours for work.

Might as well start the day early, Peter rolled his eyes.

Having no one to talk to during patrol was boring. Even if Karen technically wasn't alive or sentient, she still had a personality and was fun to talk to.

Now he was just lonely.

He could be home, telling Tony about the totally epic grade he got on his Spanish test.

"I hate it here,” Peter grumbled his current favorite meme. It had been Tony’s favorite too, and knowing that brought along a warm sensation through his chest. If only Tony was here.“Well, this night turned into a huge flop," Peter sighed and scratched his index finger against the rough concrete of a ledge of the building he was currently sat on. A random apartment building, no doubt (not that it mattered much). Staring up at the dark sky, the boy sighed once more once realizing he couldn't see the stars. They were hidden by light pollution, smog, and clouds. "Total bummer."

It was so peaceful at night, Peter wonders as a quirky little smile found its way to his hidden lips.

It was surprisingly quiet for a weekend night in New York, but the boy definitely wasn't complaining. A quiet night meant safe citizens, which made his job easier and way more fulfilling. He felt like he was actually making a difference. Protecting the little guy had never been easier. So, aside from his obvious inability to sleep, life was going as perfect as it could considering he had just lost his aunt no more than half a year ago.

A freak accident. A car wreck.

Peter had been horrified, petrified for a week following her passing, but after, he found himself feeling something he had never felt before after the death of a loved one. He felt acceptance. Aunt May was dead, and the boy was beyond devastated, but death happened. It was expected by now. Stupid Parker Luck. Seven months later, he still felt sad and thought about his aunt often, but he had learned that it's okay to move on healthily. And he did just that. Life was getting back on track after months of pain and depression with the help of a (new) big family and a therapist.

And for that, Peter was grateful.

The hero was at peace...

That was, until the sound of shattering glass and whispered conversation filled his ears.

Four blocks away, Peter thinks as he assesses the situation, super hearing wavering as the voices stopped and then continued. Four blocks... to the right. Fifth street.

Odd, Peter hummed. That street wasn't notorious for crime. In fact, it was pretty much clean in terms of criminals. 

The boy whipped around, web-shooting from his wrists as he swung away from the ledge and towards the sound of the voices. Two minutes later he found himself pitched in front of a local bank, with a shattered front window. Of course, the teen rolled his eyes. Robbers were never subtle. Can't they just go through the front door? The hero swung down to the entrance, peering through the gaping hole surrounded by jagged ridges and shattered crystals of glass. Stepping through, he tip-toed around shards and kept his senses on high alert, eyes scanning the area. It was difficult to find any abnormalities, considering his opticals weren't up to par and didn't have the same enhancements as usual. Meaning no thermal camera, making the room pitch black and cold.

It was silent, which was strange for a couple of useless bank robbers.

Usually, they'd be fumbling over themselves trying to open ATMs or searching vaults with shaking hands. This bank, however, seemed to be completely abandoned. Not a single sound around.

"Hey!" Peter growled, trying to push back his growing anxiety. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up, ticking his skin and sending shivers down his spine. He was a superhero for Pete's sake! He had no time nor right to be scared. These robbers, wherever they were, had nothing on him. Probably low-life's, Peter promises himself, though he doesn't necessarily believe himself. It was difficult to draw conclusions for a boy like him, who would probably apologize to someone who punched him for having his face in the way of their fists. "You guys better come out! The police are on their way and I'm pretty sure they don't want another Bonnie and Clyde situation if ya' know what I mean."

Silence followed, and Peter has a sinking suspicion he's talking to a brick wall.

After a quick and thorough search around the entire building, Peter grumbled under his breath and decided to wait outside for the police to come. There was no doubt they'd be there in a few minutes judging by the alarm system that had been counting down in the corner. Maybe the robbers chickened out? It happened more often than one would expect! He was just about to exit the hole in the glass when the back of his neck tingled, fingertips following suit until and swiftly whipped around, catching an object between his index and middle fingers. The boy ogled at it.

A dart.

Peter's wide, white eyes expanded, whirring quietly in the otherwise silent room. A tranquilizer dart, at that. The teen whipped around in a full circle, diligent eyes observing every nook and pocket where the light from the lamp posts didn't hit. Nothing. The hair on the back of his neck shot up again and he turned, catching another dart between his fingers.

"Oh, hell no," Peter mumbled, dread filling his gut. "Show yourself, scumbags! Only losers fight with guns... so you guys must be real cowards. Look, I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be the other way around, right? Don't the flies walk into the spider's parlor?"

A voice, cutting and sharp answers Peter's quips. And for a split second, the boy feels fear.

"You're smart, kid. But not smart enough."

Suddenly, Peter's only real exit- the broken window- and sheltered shut with a thick metal exterior. At first, this didn't seem like much of a problem, what with one singular punch would send any normal metal flying with his super strength. It was a shame that Peter didn't think it all through, because once he turned to the covered building's front and sent a hurdling punch to the cover, he felt his fingers snap.

The boy let out a low whine, unbeknownst to his attackers, and turned, feeling even more on edge.

"What gives? Now, we're all stuck in here! Some criminals you are, you guys didn't even turn off the security system. Amateurs."

A man emerged from the shadows, and Peter takes a stuttering step back.

He was dressed in a way that reminded the boy of Natasha and Clint, whenever they went on SHIELD missions. Dressed in all black, head to toe, the man had half his face covered in a leather mask, leaving only his pale eyes and combed-over hair revealed. He was tall, standing well over six feet, and towering over Peter's small stature. The boy was far from intimidated, however, as he's grown used to fighting people who were larger than him (curse his short genes!). The criminal had a vest on, most likely bulletproof, though it was difficult to confirm this from where the teen was standing. In his left hand, a long gun sat leaning against his shoulder, filled with darts, Peter presumed.

"We're the amateurs? You sure about that, Spider-Man?" The man raised the gun, eyes turning glassy.

Out of the shadows came another man, shorter in stature but still taller than Peter by far. He was dressed in the same getup, which brought along the thought that maybe they worked for an agency of some sort. The boy's first thought was HYDRA, but after a quick examination, Peter found no evidence of the signature HYDRA emblem.

So not HYDRA, Peter thought, quickly assessing the situation. But... what would these dudes want with money from a bank? His eyes flickered.

He wished he still had Karen.

"Stop talking to him, Charlie. He'll get into your head. Remember?"

Peter raised an eyebrow. He _hated_ the name Charlie for more reasons than one. In the fourth grade, bless his memory, the class read a story about a dog named Charlie, and instead of barking (like a normal dog), he made some stupid sound. What the hell did 'bow-wow' mean?! And so started his intense hatred for the name Charlie. It wasn't until seventh grade that a kid with the same name accidentally (accidentally my ass, Peter thought) spilled a strawberry shake on him at lunch. Peter hated strawberry. So on and so forth, people with the name Charlie continued to let him down and overall make his life worse.

Great, now I have another reason to hate this guy. First, robbery, and now, having a stupid name, Peter growled inwardly.

"What type of name is that? Was your mom held at gun-point while she birthed you? Because I know for a fact no one names their kid _Charlie_ without a threat or two. How does it feel to have the _worst_ name in existence!?"

The silence after was too similar to that one time Peter made a joke in front of his whole class (against his better judgment) but no one found the appeal in the stupid chemistry joke. Tony and Bruce had laughed at it when the boy brought it up that day after groaning over the awkwardness, and the billionaire had made a fair point. Maybe the kids in the class were just too stupid to understand how hilarious the joke was. Peter was too benevolent to agree.

"Tough crowd... but seriously, how do you suppose we get out of here? I'm no genius! Look at us, a spider and two petty criminals. Lucky for me, once the police get here I can go home and sleep. I hope the whole prison thing works out for you guys! Oh, and stop trying to shoot me, please, cause if I'm out dead you guys-"

"Wow, he really is stupid. At least the others at least tried to run away," The shorter male snickered, but immediately went blank-faced once more after quickly flicking his eyes to the corner of the room. Peter took a glance and observed a normal-looking security camera, which wasn't uncommon for a bank to have. "Shoot him. We only have until five."

Spidey-Sense having been triggered once more, the enhanced boy caught another dart with ease.

"You guys are gonna have to try harder than that. But you know what? I'm not worth wasting all these darts, so I'll just find my way out of here and be out of your hair. Sound good? Cause it sounds pretty peachy to me."

Peachy? What idiot says peachy?! Peter mentally groaned and reminded himself to be more smooth when arguing with criminals.

Peter didn't feel good.

Not in the slightest. There was definitely something more going on here than a routine bank robbery, and it didn't take a genius to figure that out. For one, these "criminals" seemed pretty relaxed for being locked in the bank they attempted to "rob". And another thing, these guys hadn’t even bothered to look for any money! And what criminals bring tranquilizer darts instead of a regular gun? An attacker would be killed quicker if they had real-

Oh, Peter thinks, eyes going wide at the realization. They didn't want to kill him, and they certainly weren't robbing any banks. They wanted him.

I think I've had an epiphany! The teen is proud he remembered that word and was using it in the right context. Not the time, Peter, not the time! You have two- _probably_ \- trained- _probably_ \- assassins attempting to tranquilize you, and you don't have Karen to notify Tony, which means he doesn't know you’re here, which means you have to get out of this one of your own. Okay, deep breaths, you got this.

His name is Charlie for Pete’s sake!

Hope flashes in his chest when he realizes all he needs is a swift punch and some time, and he'll be out of there in no time. These guys looked like regular people, which is good considering one punch would have them out for the count.

A slight pain in Peter's leg, and suddenly, that hope is dulled.

Focus! Peter mentally berates himself.

His metabolism works quickly around the drug, and soon, the numb feeling where dart hit is gone and the kid feels fine again. Too many dart and he's gone for twenty minutes top! Enough time for whatever these men were planning on doing with him.

"Stop moving, freak!" The taller man growled. Peter kept from his position on the ground to the nearest wall, clinging for as long as he could until another round of darts made their way to his location. Jumping around from the wall to the ceiling and back to the floor again repeatedly, the teen knows the men are nearly out of darts. Even if one hit him, he'd be fine. "Help me here, Echo!"

The shorter man- Echo- cursed under his breath and moved behind the bank teller's counter and pulled out a gun similar to Charlie's.

Okay, there's definitely something up, Peter thought, flipping front the ceiling for what felt like the hundredth time.

Another sharp pain, this time straight at his stomach, and Peter's balance is slipping.

Clambering to the ground, the teen barely missed the onslaught of darts.

Two sharpshooters, Peter cursed.

Another dart shredded the skin on the back of his neck as Peter ripped it out. He still felt fine, if a bit dizzy, and continued his attempt to gain control of the situation. All he had to do was get close enough to land a hit.

The kid found a comfortable spot against the metal exterior blocking the hole in the glass.

"Now or never," He whispered to only himself, pushing himself against the strong material with one strong leg pushed outward, ready to hit the tallest man straight in his face. It was fate that Spider-Man would win this battle. What with his super strength and enhanced metabolism burning through every dart with ease. Destiny, Peter thinks with a cocky smirk as he nears the man's face. Charlie's eyes are blown wide.

He's a foot away when unbearable pain tears through his side, ripping at flesh and muscle.

Charlie is no longer in his line of sight.

The kid makes an impact with the floor, having been blown away from his attackers.

Blinking warily, he feels his senses going haywire as pain radiates from a gaping hole in his torso. He's been shot before, many times actually, but nothing compared to the pain that came along with this bullet. Peter heard a new voice, and despite his attempts to keep his dignity, a high-pitched whine escapes his lips as he feels his skin burning around the bullet wound

"I give you one job," The new voice booms through the small establishment. "And you can't shoot one stupid kid with grade-a shotguns... idiots."

The pain is beyond agony. So much so, that a skull-splitting scream is at the tip of his tongue. Luckily for his dwindling ego, he's able to swallow it. His eyes observe the wound, feeling the muscle tearing and melting away. This wasn't any normal bullet. Just my luck, Peter cries, tears gathering in his eyes.

"Woah, Woah, Woah! Is he okay?" Charlie- the kid dubs him the dumbest one of the lot by now- asks, voice edging on worried. "I thought we needed him alive."

"He'll be fine. The bullet was laced with Ethyl Chloride. Echo would know, he's the one who told us about it. The kid's powers are gone as long as that shit's in his bloodstream; it's a pesticide sort of speak," The man who had shot him sneered and Peter heard heavy footsteps approaching. He reminded himself to keep a straight face despite the searing pain spreading rapidly across his body. A looming silhouette cornered Peter into the ground, the dirty bottom of a boot pushing against his cheek until his face was smashed against the floor. "Hey there, kid. Tough night?"

"What- what do you want-want f-f-from me?" Peter struggled against the shoe, but he felt himself growing weaker by the second.

At least it wasn't peppermint, Peter half-joked, the thought immediately sending nausea straight to his gut.

"None of your business, freak. Just know you're going to be a part of the greatest scientific discovery the world has ever known! Your name will go down in history books... right under mine. Only, you won't be alive long enough to see it. Echo, Charlie! Take him away."

The last thing Peter remembers before being clogged in the side of his head with the same heavy boot he was stuck under, was his inevitable wish that this whole thing was just one, messed up nightmare.

Tony would never let this happen.

If he were in the same situation, he'd blast these assholes into next week. Hell, he didn't even need the suit to beat these morons (Peter tries to convince himself that these guys are idiots, but knows deep down that he was the one that fell into their well-designed trap). Imagine being me, the boy sighed internally. Weak. Maybe he deserved this, considering he hadn't slept in a while and refused to despite knowing his health was deteriorating. If he had just listened to the people around him, telling him he looked like a zombie, maybe he could have felt the oncoming bullet and done something- anything- to avoid it. Of course, he just had to be an idiot!

Some genius you are, Peter felt tears well in his eyes before they finally slipped close.

He wanted Tony.

_Five minutes earlier..._

Tony Stark didn't do "sleep".

Why sleep when there were things to be done?! He could catch up on all his work, create some new weapons in his lab for the team, or make a dent the endless list of movies he wanted to watch. Besides, all his great ideas came to him in the dead of night, so he needed to be awake when they came to him.

The only difference between this sleepless night and every other one was that he wasn't planning on doing any of those things.

It was nearly four in the morning and Peter still hadn't come home.

Tony's heart was harsh against his ribcage.

The team had tried to convince him that the kid would be fine and could handle himself, but something told him tonight would be different. The billionaire wouldn't lie, he knew Peter was well-equipped to fight by himself and didn't need the extra protocols they had set in place...

Okay, so maybe that isn't completely true.

Peter had some pretty bad habits. One of those being hiding his injuries. Why his kid had to be such an idiot to do such a thing, Tony didn't know. Maybe it was the universe showing him how difficult it is to deal with someone like that, considering the hero himself had his fair share of avoiding the med-bay when he knew he was hurt. It was natural that he wanted to stay up for the kid's return, considering there was a high chance the kid would think sleeping with a stab wound would magically make it better.

And Peter was supposed to be top of his class!

Without Karen, Tony felt his anxiety rise ten-fold. Anything could be happening, Peter could be dead for all he knew!

That leads him to where he is now; sitting on a plush couch, dressed in pajamas and both legs bouncing with pent-up nervousness. He felt bad. The team, bless their souls, watched him with tired eyes. The genius insisted they go to sleep and leave him to wait for the boy, but they refused, stating simply that they too were anxious for Peter's return. They knew all about the little fiasco that disabled Spider-Man's AI.

"This is boring," Clint groaned, stuffing his face into one of the couch cushions dramatically. "Night is for sleep! And sleep is for dreams! Oh, how I wish to frolic around green fields of dandelions while singing beautiful songs to many, _many_ , gorgeous women...”

Tony rolled his eyes and gripped his knees.

"I told you all that you could go to sleep. But did you listen? No, cause you are literally all stupid, and look where it put you. And frolicking? Didn't take that as the type of things you dream of, Katniss,” Tony found himself grinning, momentarily forgetting why they were all awake to begin with. It wasn’t until he noticed there was one body missing from this sluggish group of heroes, that he straightens and frowns. “God, why isn't he back yet?!”

Clint groaned, muffled by the fabric of the cushions.

Steve sighed and shuffled from his spot in front of the coffee table, fingers twitching slightly as he watched his friend. The man was contemplating hardcore.

Steve had seen some strong men, especially in the army, but none had been like Tony. Tony had this crazy talent of being able to hide his emotions with a single snap of his fingers. Steve had to admit, it was pretty impressive. Only, now that he’s taking a good look at the man, he's realizing how pliant and soft Peter had made him. Anxiety was practically radiating off of him, and he wasn't even trying to hide it!

Speaking of Tony, the man let out a frustrated growl and glanced out the window and out onto the skyline.

"Not to worry, Stark! Peter is most likely on his way back now!" Thor bellowed, stuffing his face with what looked to be his sixth pop tart of the night.

“Thor’s right, for once,” Natasha agreed, yawning and crossing her arms so her shirt stretched over the muscles in his arms. Steve raised an eyebrow and wondered how a woman like her could look deadly, even in soft pajamas and plush slippers. “Peter knows better than to stay out all night. Give him some time and he’ll be home, and if he’s not, I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

Tony just fidgeted.

"I hate it here,” He quoted a recent meme Peter had been saying recently, not realizing the warm feeling that spread across his body at hearing the silly phrase... if only Peter were here. “This kid is gonna be the death of me. Are you sure we can't track him, Fri?"

The AI answered almost immediately, startling Bruce from his sleep (he hadn't even noticed, but he was passed out by eleven after Tony teased him by calling him an "old man" just because he could barely stay up past eight- Bruce has his fair share of sleepless nights, however). Clint snickered at the doctor, who only coughed nervously and fixed himself in his armchair.

“What’s happening?” He muttered.

”Tony’s freaking cause Spider-Baby’s not home yet. Partying hard, I bet. What a little rascal!” Clint barked a laugh, earning a glare from Natasha followed by a slipper to the face. “Ah! Shit, Nat. What was the for?”

”For being inconsiderate.”

Clint just whined and submit under the assassins harsh, fiery gaze. She really was terrifying when she wanted to be. 

"I'm afraid not, Boss. Karen's control system held all possible forms of tracking, communication, protocol initiations and the ability to display young boss’s vitals. The only thing I can say is whether or not his suit is online."

Tony rubbed an annoyed hand down his face, and Steve could have sworn he saw Natasha rub a comforting hand down the man's back. Odd.

The man thought back to earlier that day, reminiscing about a very excited Peter coming home from school. He was practically bouncing when he came barreling into the commons, ranting about how he had aced a test for his language class. The team had congratulated him, but he had dropped his smile the second he realized Tony was still in a meeting at the other side of town. He had been looking forward to telling his mentor that all those sleepless nights were worth it.

"Well?" He growled.

Friday whirred about for a moment. "Peter's suit is currently offline."

Time seemed to stop.

" _What?!_ " Tony practically screamed, leaping from his spot on the couch and flailing his arms about. Bruce once again flinched, not realize he had begun to doze off again. Clint's mouth formed a wonky 'o' and Natasha's eyes turned dark. Steve stepped forward, ready to calm the man if needed. "When? When did it go offline and why didn't you tell me?"

"It appears that his suit was just recently turned offline. Handprints not matching Peter's have removed the mainframe in his suit. I am sorry, boss, I was not aware I was to alert you."

Tony began to pace fretfully.

"Shit! Listen, doll, alert me if the suit goes back on immediately. Is there any way to say who turned Peter's suit off?"

"No. The hand-print appears to have suffered from a severe injury or burn and identification is impossible."

"Fuck, shit, okay. Okay, is there anything else you can tell me? Are you sure you can't tell us where he is?!"

"Impossible, boss. I apologize."

The whole room get like it was filled with tar. The heavy atmosphere somehow darkened the expensive lighting. Tony felt his chest contract violently, hearting beating so hard against his chest, he was sure his ribs were cracking under the pressure. Peter was currently MIA, and there was no way he could be located. He knew he should have upgraded the suit sooner! If he had, none of this would have happened. Tony’s hands shook furiously as he raked them through his hair, suddenly well aware that the situation was on the verge of disastrous. Visions of Peter’s cold and lifeless body, lying in a puddle of his own blood in a dark alley clouded his mind. Dead. What if Peter was dead? What if he was hurt and was suffering because he couldn’t call the older man? What if someone was still hurting him?!

“Okay, no, this isn’t okay. Everyone gear up right now! We’re finding him _tonight_ , no excuses. Bruce, go down to the labs and see if there is any way to locate Peter even though the suit is off- there has to be. Steve, Nat, Clint, take the North and East burrows. Thor and I with take South and West. Do not come back until there’s a kid in your arms or so help me I’ll rip your limbs off and stuff them down your throat!”

Clint muttered something about valuing his life and scampered away and out of the room, followed by a confused and very tired Bruce. Tony growled and pushed his palms against his temples, face red and eyes glassy. It’s then that the remaining team members are reminded how important this is, what the repercussions to not finding Peter are. Tony wouldn’t hurt them (that wasn’t guaranteed). Peter, the youngest member who deserved nothing but love, was in danger. They needed to find him, no matter what.   
  
This was easier said than done.

Natasha sent Steve a look, in which the soldier merely gave puppy-eyes in return. They turned to suit up, nerves running through their veins. Tony suddenly rush out of the room, most likely preparing his suit to go out and search for the young boy.   


”What are you thinking?” Steve asked quietly to the woman next to him.   


“We’ll find him.”

”How can you be so sure?”

Natasha smirked despite the serious situation and began to walk out of the room. “Didn’t you hear Stark? Better get a move on or the only thing you’ll be eating is yourself.”

Nat’s words sunk into Tony’s mind, who was listening intently form the outside of the room, Iron Man suit ready to be worn in the lower labs. His mind was racing, but hearing the assassin’s words brought some peace of mind, even if it were just for a moment. After the blissful second was gone, however, his mid began to wander.

Something told him they wouldn’t be home for a while.

Thor sat alone in the common room, wondering when and how the night went so wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m almost in love with this chapter. I hope that didn’t come off to cocky, but it’s true, haha! How are you guys dealing with quarantine (if you’re in quarantine where you live)? What are you all doing to pass the time? I bought a whole bunch of carpet things where you weave carpet thread in a specific pattern to complete and image. It’s so fun and they’re super cute. I also recommend puzzles! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I love you all so much you have no idea. 
> 
> Feel free to comment, leave kudos, and save for later! Love you lots- lmc <3


	3. Endless Voids of Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s finally home. That means he’s safe, right? Tony struggles to come to terms with the fact that his son is safe and gone after a year and a half of being missing. He also reveals a few interesting facts about his kidnappers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who’s psychotic dad took there phone for days on end! Ding, ding, ding! You are correct! Mine. Long story short, my technology was taken from me because my dad was drunk and told me how lazy and worthless I am, so... I’m so sorry this took so long. I’ve been struggling. Anyways, here we are. I don’t even like this chapter.
> 
> I’m so sorry, guys. 
> 
> Warnings:  
> -References to Torture  
> -References to Drugs

_Present-day..._

Tony's left to wonder how he could have let Peter slip through his fingers.

He took pride in protecting the boy when he couldn't protect himself. And yet, against his better judgment, he hadn't gone patrolling with the kid that night all those months ago. In hindsight, he should have never let Peter go. If he was completely cut off from any resources, it was obvious that he should have been able to go on a stupid patrol for one measlynight. One day wouldn't hurt. It was only because he knew Peter was intelligent, and in his eyes, that was more important than how physically strong the kid was. Although, it didn't hurt that the kid was blessed with super-strength stronger than Captain America's. Totally badass, Tony had thought by the way, whenever he watched the boy lift buildings and semi-trucks with ease.

He couldn't help but be proud of the kid.

Even if he wasn't his legitimate child, Tony felt obligated to preen with pride whenever the kid did something good. It felt good to smile and give the biggest high-five known to man for the simplest of things.

But nothing compared to the look on Peter's face when he was praised.

It was like a lightbulb had suddenly been turned on. He would break out into an ear-splitting grin, flashing his teeth and dimples in ways even Natasha- a deadly, trained assassin- just had to awe over. The boy's cheeks would heat up and blush furiously, reminding Tony of how Pepper would blush at every compliment he bestowed upon her. It was adorable.

Clint would always mutter how Tony was "Dad Material" despite his drinking and horrible self-preservation skills, but the man had never believed it. Even now, when he had a flow-blown teenager to take care of, he never did think of himself as a father. There was always the fear that he'd turn out like Howard. And for a rough few months, it seemed that way. The billionaire had been busy, or at least that was his excuse. Long story short, Peter cared when Tony didn't and had the startling realization that like every other fatherly-figure in his life, he had been abandoned. It wasn't until Karen had alerted Tony that the boy hadn't slept in over three days and was having more panic attacks than meals for a week, that the man realized what he had done.

He vowed to himself that day.

He promised that no matter what, he'd protect Peter Parker with all he had. When May died, that promise became something much more.

For a while there, Tony had thought he was doing well.

He had been cooking more meals and asking about the boy's life behind closed quarters. He had been getting involved and learning things he hadn't imagined himself learning had he not met the kid. Everything was going perfectly.

It had all come crashing down.

That night all those months ago that shaped the next year and a half had been the most stressful Tony had ever endured.

He remembers running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Natasha's words- it had been far too long for him to remember them exactly- had been ringing in his ear as the Iron Man suit had been built around him. Tony had been convinced they'd find the boy, what with six heroes on the lookout. And yet, the sun had risen over the horizon and the man hadn't found a single clue as to where the teen had gone. None of the team did. The man was true to his promise, in some ways more than others, as he refused to let anyone go home that day. Of course, hehadn't forced their limbs down their throats or anything, but the physical exhaustion was almost worse.

It had been Pepper that eventually dragged the worried philanthropist back.

Tony remembers her words almost perfectly.

"Tony, you're no good to Peter if you can barely keep your eyes open long enough to look for him! You can barely stand up straight, and if you think that starving yourself of necessary things like food and sleep will help you find him, then you're more psychotic than I thought. Come home, now."

It had been so hard to walk back into that building. Not because his threat was proved empty, but because he knew in a way, that he was throwing in the towel. I'm reality? That wasn't what it meant at all. He never stopped looking. That's what he likes to tell himself.

The police searched, but they can only look for so long.

The Avengers searched. They enlisted help from SHIELD, the government, anybody willing to look for a missing vigilante and a kidnapped teen. SHIELD had other missions, the government couldn't waste any more time nor money into looking when there were no leads, and New York couldn't protect itself. They had looked for months.

Tony likes to say they never stopped.

He likes to say it often.

Peter looks small on the hospital cot. He looks like he barely weighs fifty pounds soaking wet, and is so pale, he rivaled the white sheets that ran across the cot. His skin is pasty, and dry, and welts, rashes and blisters rub across the full expanse of his body. Everywhere, from his chest, to his legs, his back and nether regions.

There's a gaping hole in his side.

It appeared to be horribly infected, but had long since simmered down and obviously lost its bite, considering the boy was still alive. The skin around it was practically melting off, even if the wound was old, which was concerning to say the least. His groin was another story, one that Tony didn't want to think about all things considered. There was a single bathroom in the whole facility, and if Peter had been in that tiny room all this time, the man was certain he didn't even know it existed. The boy looks as if he hadn't eaten in months. His body was completely emaciated, jutting bones and skin that clung to every open space, looking as if he had no innards whatsoever. His nails were yellow and thin, eyes sunken in. Tony made a mental note to feed the kid until he was popping at the seams. The kid hadn't had the liberty of taking a shower yet, considering he was still asleep, so he smelled worse than the zoo Pepper had forced the man to go to for "PR purposes". It sounded cruel, but the truth hurt.

(The truth was, they hadn't found Peter that first day he went missing, or the next. They didn't find him that week or even that month. They didn't even find him that year. Peter had missed what would have been a New Year's Party, if the billionaire hadn't cancelled it. He missed an exciting string of robberies that lasted a month and a half that Tony knew the kid would have loved to crack).

Tony sat now beside the cot, the frigid air of the med-bay sending shivers down his spine.

Peter was shaking.

The man's fingers twitched, itching slightly as he watched the teen shutter and quiver. He couldn't contain himself. Hesitantly, he moved his hands to both sides of Peter and grasped the sheet, pulling it up and over the boy's shoulders until it rest just below his chin. Tucked nicely, Tony felt his heart break when the trembling didn't stop. He turned, reaching for an extra blanket thrown over a chair next to him and draped it over the small body.

What if the boy got hot underneath all those blankets? Tony pulled the extra blanket down a bit.

What if he was thirsty? The man glanced nervously around, making sure the IV was security in the boy's veins.

What if-

A soft knock on the door pried Tony from his nervous ticks and fussing.

In walked Steve, looking close to death, but not nearly as ragged as the billionaire did. He was dressed in pajamas and his muscles were relaxed for the first time in months. The shorter man just had to smile. His kid was back and his team was finally healing. A resentment still settled in Tony's heart, however, and he wasn't sure if the grudge would ever fade. He was angry at Steve, and that anger showed no signs of diminishing.

"Hey Tony," The super soldier closed the door softly, as to not bother the sleeping child any. Tony smiled, although it didn't quite reach his eyes, and offered the empty chair to the man. Steve sat down quietly. "How's he doing?"

"As well as you can expect," The man unconsciously grasped at Peter's hand, ignoring how bony and small they felt in his hands. "Bruce said he should be waking up soon considering the pain meds are wearing off. He was pretty out of it earlier and I'm not-... I'm not sure if he even felt anything. There was something wrong with his eyes. He can't- cant see for some reason, Bruce said he didn't know yet, but he's pretty sure it's temporary. I-I don't-"

"Tony, relax," Steve sent a comforting gaze to his friend, but was met with a slight glare. Apology not excepted. "Look, I'm not sure if Peter's going to be okay. I can't promise that, because I truly just don't know; I'm not a doctor. But I can promise that we'll be with him every step of the way. The whole team, I mean. You don't have to worry. At least not yet- he's barely been here an hour."

"I know, I know," Tony gripped the small hand tighter. "It's just... something doesn't feel right."

Steve scoffed. "You got that right. Natasha and Clint have the guys at the helicarrier, but how can two guys hold a kid like Peter for that long with no help? It just doesn't add up."

"When's the interrogation?"

"Tomorrow."

Tony nodded, eyes forming slits. There was no way in Hell he was missing that. He wanted to know what gave those asswipes the right to take his kid and fuck them up for thinking they could hurt him and get away with it. Absolute idiots, if you ask him.

Steve began to pick at his sleeve, a nervous tick Iron Man hadn't thought Captain America was capable of.

Tony Stark knew better than to judge Steve Rodgers.

The philanthropist made a mental note to look into fidget toys for the team, just as a thoughtful little present that double as anxiety-relief. Lord knows they needed some of that! Tony hadn't stopped being anxious since the day Peter was taken, and that fact could be backed up with the fact that his hands never stoped shaking and the panic attacks he suffered from were practically chronic. The kid meant more to him than life itself, and if spending days on end with no sleep or food brought him one step closer to finding him, than Tony was ready to go his whole life on an empty stomach and inch-thick eye bags.

He had made a promise to May.

A promise he planned on keeping. Because that woman did too much and cared too much for Peter to see him fa apart at the hands of a hero. Aunt May would murder the people who took her baby, if she could.

Tony was sure he could do the same

"I'll be there."

Steve sighed and leaned back in his chair, scratching at his beard slightly. He hadn't had time to shave, considering there were more important things to do.

"Are you sure Fury will let you? He was qualms about interfering with criminals in an... unprofessional way."

Tony scoffed, and for dramatic effect, rolled his eyes. "Fury can't stop me from doing anything. When you're out on the street, doing whatever Captain America does, the name 'Tony Stark' turns heads. Notice how the boring, lame, irrelevant name 'Nick Fury' is ignored. It's because I do what I want, when I want. And no one, not even the fucking director of Shield, can stop me from protecting my kid. I'll do whatever I want to them, because the kid isn't in any shape to be bashing heads. Peter deserves at least that."

Steve smiles, almost coyly, and despite his ever growing anger against the man, Tony finds himself smiling back.

His eyes can't hold joy for too long. He feels guilty.

"I'm not saying I'm against it. Let's just say, if the director asks why there's two dead bodies in the interrogation room, you'll be the last person on my list of blame."

Tony's eyes widened softly before falling. "Damn, Spangles, didn't know you had it in you."

Steve grins with pride before standing and returning the chair to it's original position. At that, the other man rolled his eyes, knowing if he hadn't moved the furniture, it would have bother his self-righteous ass all day.

"Neither did I," He risks a glance at the bed, flinching at the sight of marred skin. His eyes turned to slits. "What did Bruce say about those track marks?"

Tony looked surprised at that, frantically turning over Peter's arms to get a good look at his veins. There they were, small dots literally his wrists and the crook of his elbow. The man felt his breathing hitch slightly; he hadn't even noticed that.

"Nothing. He didn't even mention it which is odd because he would have at least seen it when connecting the IV."

"I'm sure he had a reason. Don't stress, Tony, whatever it was I'm sure he's burned it off by now. And he's alive, so it couldn't have done any extreme damage."

There's a beat of silence, and Steve takes a small moment to look at the man in front of him, slumped over a small and cold body. A body that looked dead, if not for the small rise and fall of his pale chest. The soldier looks into Tony’s eyes, and for a brief moment, his heart drops. Their dead, for lack of better term. His eyes were so vacant, and held no life. With his gaping, empty eye sockets, Steve noticed a seemingly endless tunnel, reflecting no light nor emotion. And still, behind all the misery and hopelessness, she stares into those blown out pupils and feels entrapped by an unknown force pulling her in. Passed the bare and blank wall, a sad, pleading soul is left to beg on the other side. They're stuck in a far off land, dreamy and lost in an inexhaustible expanse of darkness and dependency.

His friend was falling apart, and there was nothing he could do but pray the man’s most precious gift came out alright.

“He looks dead, Rodgers.”

Steve turns and stares at the small boy and can’t help but agree. He decides to ignore the statement all together, and after a small pause, he changes the subjects and makes an excuse to leave the tension-bound room that was thickening by the second.

"I'm making dinner. Any requests?"

"Bring me back to my roots, Cap, and order us some Shawarma. I have a feeling we'll have a reason to celebrate,” There is no humor passed that sentence.

Steve nodded and left a comforting pat on Tony's shoulder before leaving the room quietly.

Once again, it was completely silent in the room. This didn't particularly bother the billionaire, considering before Steve had arrived it had been beyond dead-silent. It was actually nice to be in a quiet room, just him and Peter, hands interlocked as he waited for the boy to return to the land of the living. He felt himself soften, body going slack as he read his head on Peter's torso, applying no pressure in fear he would disturb the boy's wounds. Closing his eyes, Tony listening.

He paid close attention to the whirring of his guts as they circled stomach acid and empty space. He needed food, and soon.

Tony longer for more. Slowly, he ont he supposed the teen's chest until his ear was resting where Peter's heart laid. The soft pitter-patter of the organ pulled the man into a trance. He repeated a mantra in his head in hopes to calm his aching nerves. Peter's as alive. Peter was alive, and the beating beneath his head was evidence of that.

Sleepless nights, gone to waste, because Tony was too stupid to track down his kid.

A part of the man wants to tell him that he had tried his best, and that there was nothing else to be done. However, the louder, more intrusive part of his brain reminded him that he should have his title as "genius" revoked considering he couldn't find the one person who made living worth it.

I'll kill those bastards, Tony promises. I don't know how, but they won't make it to next week.

The sound of a soft gasp pulled Tony from his homicidal thoughts.

The man's reaction was instant.

He immediately hover over the boy's frame, hands in the air just over his arms, afraid to ouch him and make things worse. And in reality, the jostling could have ruptured one of the wounds, which refused to heal on account of the lack of nutrients Peter received over the past eighteen months. Hands shaking, Tony tried to calm his nerves by blinking his wide eyes slowly, but this only made it worse. Every time he closed his eyes, Peter was gone, whisked away from his hold like dust beneath a ceiling fan. The boy's body looked awkward, almost, spread out and back straight. It was obvious that his spine had grown used to the small size of the hole he was found in. It looked as if he was a zombie coming back to life.

A groan, and then, the flickering of bruised eyelids opening to reveal hollow, blackened eyes.

Tony has seen some shit in his life.

He's seen innocent people die at the hands of his own weapons. He's seen his prized inventions being used against him. Pepper had been taken from him, thought he got her back, and memories of flying through a wormhole still haunt his nightmares. He's been kidnapped, tortured, betrayed, and robbed of the one thing he cherished deeply: his heart.

Nothing compares to this.

Nothing weighs up to the dim, lifeless eyes that hid behind those shuttering eyelids.

"Peter?" Tony's voice barely comes out a whisper, which is odd for the usually confident man. In a way, he had lost his swagger along with the boy beneath him. Even Pepper had to admit, his smooth talking abilities had all but disappeared. He had no reason for charisma, when the only reason he left his home was to look for the missing teen. "You're okay. It's okay."

He doesn't know what to do.

The words are all lost on him when those melancholy, calamitous eyes finally open. The gaze that meets his own is foreign, and for the smallest of seconds, Tony thinks this isn't his kid. This sick, pale body couldn't be the boy that went missing. People like Peter come few and far between, and despite how much the older man wants to hold on to a glimmering shred of hope, he thinks dimly that the world has lost one of those people.

Peter's first words are traumatizing.

"Who're you?" His voice has changed slightly, seeing as though he was readily consuming liquids through the IV, which had perked him up slightly.

Had Peter already forgotten him? They only saved him a few hours ago.

"I-It's me, Pete. It's Tony, remember? I saved you from the, uh, from the bad guys and you went on and on about bagels and Spanish. Can you try to remember for me?"

The ex-hero ignores the question and simply moves his head side to side to get a good glance at the room.

On the spur of the moment, Peter's feeble fingers are clutching at the mattress beneath him, and squeezing with all their might. For a moment, the genius ponders picking at the limbs, seeing as though the nail beds were so bloody and bitten, it had to hurt applying that much pressure. He doesn't get the chance to make that decision before Peter is sliding out of the cot and on to the cold, tile floor.

Chaos ensues in Tony's brain, his first thought being: what the fuck just happened?!

"Oh," Peter mumbles when he finally collapses at the side of the bed. His eyes are glassy and unfocused as they survey his surroundings without much vigor. "See."

"Peter!" It takes the man less than a second to fall to the ground next to the kid. IVs having been ripped out, a steady trailed of blood leaks from the exposed prick in the skin. The tubes being his only source of energy thus far, Tony wanted nothing more than to get them back in. "Peter, listen to me. Can you hear me? I need you to answer for me real quick, bud, cause you can't sit on the floor and you can’t rip out the needles. Shit, you nearly gave your old man a heart attack. Hey, I said listen."

But Peter's fingers are blindly tracing Tony's jaw.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what's happening. The boy's lips form an odd 'o' shape, and small noises from the top of his tongue are crawling out. Sounds one would make to a dog to call them over.

"Shh," Peter whispers, and Tony is frozen in his spot. "It'll all be over soon."

The man's hands lay flat against the floor, attempting to find anything to ground him. His mind begins to panic, rushed thoughts wondering what the hell Peter was talking about. The boy didn't seem to notice his company's tense body or ridged shoulders. No, the hand travels to the top of Tony's greasy hair, and the pats ensue. Up and down, Peter's hand blindly pets down the hair and the same stupid noises erupt from his mouth.

"Can you see, Peter? We have to get you back up on the bed, hon, you'll open up your wounds. You can take a shower, I promise, if you left me pick you up, you can take a shower as soon as possible. That sounds nice, er, doesn't it?" He finally breaks the overwhelming silence.

"See... see. No, can't see. But-but, that's okay because it'll all be over soon. Right? You say it'll all be over soon and the pain will go away. I don't know what a bed is. I-I'm talking, aren't I? I'm sor-sorry it won't happen again. Do it, I won't struggle. I-I-I promise... I'll go back in."

"No, no, Peter, you can talk. Talk all you want, bud, and don't worry about it. In fact, I’ll be upset if you don’t talk- wait, no, forget I said that. I’m not upset at all. And, you won't even have to go back there. No matter what, Petey-Pie. Tell me, what'll be over?"

A distant look in the boy's eyes, followed by a choke in his throat.

"I don't know. Why're you cryin'?" The boy begins to slump, and despite his better judgement, Tony shoots forward and cups his hands round the smaller male's jaw. His thumbs wipe under those large, doe eyes, even if no tears come out. He hadn't even noticed he'd been crying until the boy asked, and the question brought back memories of earlier, when they first rescued the boy.

"Because you don't- you don't remember me."

Peter doesn't answer, and instead looks around with dopey, blind eyes.

Tony feared he'll never see again. They hadn't known why he voudront see at first, but a Bruce mentioned something about the lack of light during his containment could have participated in the blinding of his eyes. Temporarily, the man had muttered unsurely to himself, and that broadened the sliver of hope in the other man's chest.

"I'm going to pick you up now, Peter. Just relax and let me hook you back up to the IVs, actually, Bruce can do that. I won't- I don't know how, really. I'm not good with needles, Pete, you know that."

Peter's eyes circled around the overhead lights. He could see the small circle clearly, for the most part, and he couldn't tear his eyes away. That was, until, the man (Tony, he says quietly to himself, his name is Tony) loomed over him, and a small blue light appeared in his gaze. Vaguely, he remembers it from somewhere, whether it be from a dream or a reality he could no longer recall. But it brung about a warm feeling to erupt in his chest, and therefor spread down his limbs and across his heart. He was safe with this man, in this place.

Something existed outside of the room.

He had gone so long believing there was nothing in The Outside besides warm hands and raisin bagels, but now that he was seeing what lived beyond brick and metal, he felt numb. It was cold. And the "bed" hurt his back when he was forced to lay down on his back. His torso hurt, and it never hurt in the room. His fingers hurt too, when he tried to spread them, as cuts cracked and blood spread. He felt, as odd as it sounded, trapped.

Peter (he loved his name; he hadn't known it was his name, but he knew he loved it) didn't know anything about The Outside. But now that he knows there's at least something out there, he supposed it isn't a big mystery, and therefor, it doesn't deserve a good name. Outside, is good enough for now.

The only good thing about this world, was Tony.

Tony was warm, like the hands, and had a soft voice that made warmth spread across his body like-... well, Peter didn't know. The word was on the tip of his tongue. The warmth spread like...

The blue light is holding him.

Two large hands, calloused and cordial, grasp him by the shoulders and lift him for a brief moment while a body moves behind him, and the blue light disappears. Long, heavy weights settle the side of his hips, securing him in place loosely. A strong surface comes to meet his back, and not before long, he's been pulled down into a familiar embrace from behind. It doesn't take a genius to know he's being held by Tony, supporting him physically in a way Peter can't ever remember hugged before. He loves it.

A faint smile graces his lips as they tremble, barely able to form the shape.

Like most things, he is unsure. He doesn't exactly know what the weird feeling in his heart is, or the way his lips quirk up, or the way he hums and unconsciously leans into the snug cuddle. His world is dark, but Peter can still see all the lights at the end of the tunnel.

And the brightest one is blue.

Tony's chest rumbles avaient his back, sending shivers down his spine. It feels so familiar, yet he can't remember a thing. He doesn't try to, anyway. He doesn't even understand what's happening really, because before a few moments ago, he didn't even know if any of this was real. Peter decides he doesn't want to remember. It's not his life to live. Not anymore, at least. He's at the mercy of whoever has him now. Before, it was the hands- Charlie, Echo and Alpha- who would hurt him ruthlessly and then grasp him by the chin and show admiration. A strange cycle.

"Peter," The voice is in his ear, and a sudden wave of exhaustion rolls over him, so he leans his head back and his met with soft skin, hot to the touch. Burying his face in it, the awkward position doesn't bother him one bit. A small beating under the skin adds another sense of comfort and belonging. "We'll get you back to normal, buddy, as soon as we can. You'll see again, and you'll remember me and yourself. I don't- I don't know what they did to you, baby, but they won't get to live long enough to get to do it again. As long as you remember that, you'll be okay. You know how much I love you?"

No, Peter thinks immediately, because he doesn't understand love anymore. At least, he thinks he doesn't. He can't put a name to the bubbly feeling in his heart when Tony speaks, but he has a sneaking suspicion it's love.

"Happens next? Enhanced."

"What? Yeah, uh, you are enhanced, Pete. You remember that?"

"All enhanced. Alpha said- Alpha said... cant remember what Alpha said."

Tony's eyebrows furrowed as he straightened slightly, grasping Peter's hands from behind him tightly despite the many cuts on the small appendages. "Alpha? That's a stupid name."

Thinking a laugh might erupt from the boy above him, Tony smiled.

Nothing followed but silence for a long while.

"Aggrandized."

"What?"

"Aggrandized Citizen Experiment. They'll be mad I told you but... but the hands will be back. Are you- Are you the hands?"

Tony felt delicate fingers lift his hand, wide, unseeing eyes tracing out the patterns on his palm, scratching at the surface with blunt finger nails. It wasn't until now that the man realizes a few of his fingernails had been completely ripped off, the reason for the wound unknown.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Listen, Pete, we'll figure this out later. Okay? You've been gone for a year and a half, and even if you don't know, I loved you more than anything and so did Pepper, Happy, Rhodey- everyone. I'm willing to go through three years over again just to get you back, bud. I lost you once and I won't lose you again."

"I don't know you."

Tony knows this to be true. When Peter's gaze meets his own, as horrible foggy and distant it is, he knowns the boy has no recollection. There's no remembrance at the sound of his voice. He doesn't smile and answer back with vigor, eager to please and just so happy to be talking at all. This Peter, the boy who took his place, was resigned and didn't understand.

Peter always understood, and when he didn't, he asked questions.

"What did they do to you?"

His voice cracks horribly, and tears begin to stream down his cheeks at a tremendous rate. His mouth forms a horrible sneer, but there is no anger. He feels nothing, really, when he gazes into the small boy's eyes and sees nothing but clouds. It's gone, and will never return.

The happiness is gone. The intelligence is gone. The innocence is gone.

The love is gone.

Peter ignites the man’s question entirely.

"I got an A+, or some-something like that, on a test. I don't know when I took the test or where I took it."

"Spanish," Tony supplies. It seemed so trivial, the test, and he wonders why of all the things he had to remember, it was that he aced a test he took months ago. Why couldn't he have remembered Tony? Or his life before he was taken? Why of all things, did he have to remember something so unimportant!? "You aced a Spanish test. We all said you would, but you studied-"

"For a week straight. I didn't sleep for two days. A lady said if I drank anymore coffee, whatever that is, that I'd have a heart attack and die. I didn't listen and I didn't die."

Tony's eyes widened slightly at that.

"You remember that?"

Peter's eyes got moist for a moment, before he shuffled uncontrollably and whined. Before Tony could ask what was wrong, or even begin to question what the boy was doing, the child was using all his force to lift the older man's hand to his crown. With the heavy weight settled on his head, the boy seemed to calm down, almost as if the hand had stopped the thoughts all together. Little did he know, it had. The comforting weight brought a blanket over the boy's mind, stopping any intrusive thoughts from worming their way through.

"Yes. And I remember that day, I didn't go home because I had stopped for a sandwich, I don't know what that is anymore, I can't remember, I'm sorry. But then someone called me- yeah, someone called me- and I went over to their house for-for something. Then, I never saw any of them again. I met Charlie first, and for some reason, he had made me angry... Charlie is a stupid name. Echo came out after and he had been smart, he was really smart, Tony! Then, I met Alpha and he wasn't as smart as Echo but he had a gun. And he would aim it at me whenever I was bad, so I tried not be bad; I drank what they wanted me to and ate until I-I couldn't anymore. They disappeared and the hands came and then... I started to forget. I forget what happened, and who I was. I still don't know you, or where I am."

"I’m sorry, Petey, for not finding you sooner,” Tony leaves a lingering loss to the boy’s temple and ignores the kid as he flinched away from the foreign touch. The darkness is closing in and the man can’t help but let out an inappropriate comment. “You sure talk a lot for a kid who's been in the dark for eighteen months," Tony jokes, but Peter doesn't laugh or even smile.

"I-I'll stop. I can stop if you want."

"No! No, please, don't stop, kid. I haven't heard your voice in months and I-... please, just keep talking for as long as you want. Jesus, don’t ever stop.”

Peter starts talking, about nothing and everything all at once.

He talks about the darkness, the hole, how nothing else existed outside of it and how he never knew this world existed. He talks about how lonely he was, but at the same time, he couldn't even comprehend the loneliness because he had forgotten everything. The pain went away, and a cold numbness racked his body. He used to scream for someone to save him, but slowly he forgot faces and names, genders and relationships. Soon, there was nothing.

Tony says nothing. He holds on to the kid as if he'd slip away.

Despite his better judgement, Tony fears he will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m falling apart. Literally. I’m spiraling and I don’t know what to do anymore. The only thing that brings me joy is reading and writing and it’s so hard to do that when my brain won’t shut up. My motivation is gone and why I didn’t myself writing story after story with all these ideas, and yet I can’t finish them. My dad is insane and I stuck with him. My mother hates me and I can’t eat or sleep. I don’t even know why I’m telling you guys this. You don’t even know me.


	4. A Parker’s Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s captors show how ruthless the world can be when presented with strange new things. He is introduced with the fact that the world is falling, and these people are convinced they can fix it. In the end, he is merely a lab rat... an experiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Welcome back, it’s been awhile. Sorry for the long update, I was dealing with some family things and finishing up school. Thanks for sticking by! I actually like this chapter so hopefully you guys do too. Without further ado, warnings, as always!
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Gore  
> -Electrocution  
> -Mentions of Suicide  
> -Non-Consensual Drug Use  
> -Dehumanizing

_Eighteen Months Earlier..._

Peter doesn't give up easily. It's a Parker thing, maybe, because Parker's are stronger than they're made out to be. He thinks back to the day his uncle died and remembers vividly that the man held on as long as he could despite the circumstances and the painful wound that was slowly dragging him under. The man stayed awake as long as he physically could, reaching the point of complete exhaustion simply to tell his nephew words of advice in hopes that maybe it would lessen the blow of his impending doom. That maybe, just maybe, his soft words would reach the heart of the young boy and remind him that no matter what it wasn't his fault. Life can continue without him.

"With great power, comes great responsibility..."

Peter can't help but think he's dishonoring his late uncle.

Sitting here, bound and gagged in a nearly empty room with two burly men who have it out for him, the kid feels screwed. That's warranted, given the steely glare the smaller of the men continues to offer him. Peter tried his best to return the hardened gleam, but he's convinced that he looks more like a kicked puppy than anything intimidating. Apparently, his captors agree because they seem more amused than anything at his weak attempts at daunting them. The kid eventually has to give in to there intense staring contest when he feels a sharp sting in his side.

The wound from the laced bullet is oozing blood and showing no signs of stopping. Though it's difficult to see the gaping hole from his vantage point, he knows instantly that he needs medical attention. The skin and muscle surrounding the aching gash is slowly melting away, for lack of better word. And though Peter is almost a hundred percent sure than the skin cannot technically 'melt', he feels as though that's the most accurate description. The pale complexion of his outermost layer is fusing with the pinkish flesh of his muscle in a way Peter assumed could only happen in horror movies. He can see the whites of his ribs, sizzling away as the chemical spreads to the surrounding area. The teen wonders if it will ever stop. Doctor Banner taught him better than to ignore a gaping gunshot wound, but currently, with his hands bound behind his back, he finds it impossible to apply pressure.

Well, nearly impossible.

It's a pathetic attempt at trying to save himself, but the boy leans over so his torso is collapsing into itself, his upper ribs pressing the wide hole to capture it between his hip and stomach. The pain is instant, and the kid is thankful that the gag is masking his weak whimpers.

Currently, the small hero was on his knees, sitting back on his heels as best he could so he could stay upright. Show no weakness, he reminds himself, though his resolve is slipping. Peter's hands were bound together by what appeared to be metal shackles, though he seriously doubted they were made of anything but vibranium. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pull the shackles apart. Wrists wrapped together, they were connected to the chains that were wrapped around his ankles, putting his shoulders in a rather awkward position. They ached dully, begging for release that wouldn't come anytime soon.

Peter's head is thumping to the rhythm of his heart.

His headache from earlier (just a headache, he convinced himself, not a migraine) was still strong beneath his skull, pounding harshly. He silently pleaded for relief or silence, but his captors wouldn't give.

He had yet another reason to hate the name Charlie. The man was a chatter-box. Ever since he had woken up from his pain-induced haze, Peter knew that not a single second passed that the man wasn't filling the void of quiet.

"What was her name again?" Speak of the devil. Peter closed his eyes and mumbled something inaudible into the innocent bandana-turned-gag. Charlie's eyes are wide and expressive, and Peter can tell instantly that he talks with his hands. His fingers fly as he speaks rather rapidly. Nervous. "She was blonde- yeah, the blonde one. And her mother was an accountant and her father was having an affair with the nanny! I think... anyway, do you remember her? She was ten or so. What was her name, Echo?"

The use of code names was odd, but not unexpected. Almost all villains had their signature name, even heroes did! It added to the whimsical and powerful part of their costumes, Peter supposed. But these names weren't meant to be comical or a narcissistic power-move. No, they were deliberate and calculated. However, they weren't impossible to crack, and anyone with basic knowledge would be able to put two and two together.

Echo, Charlie, Alpha... NATO Phonetic Alphabetic.

Aka, the military alphabet, Peter thought in inquisition. Chances are, the boy would never get to know their real names, and they wanted to keep it that way. Without names, they couldn't be tracked or researched.

These guys must be pretty smart, Peter cautioned. He was intelligent, but nothing's worse than two genius' going head to head. Not to mention that it was technically one genius versus three, who happened to be physically intimidating, adult men. Sure, he had powers, but they were useless with the worsening blood bath at his side and in-prisoned limbs. If he made a break for it now, towards the staircase leading to a bolted door, he'd easily be shot down and contained once more. And knowing that the supposed "leader" of their small pack owned a dangerous and extremely painful weapon was an immediate reason so Peter not to take his chances.

If he weren't hogtied, maybe he'd throw a punch.

Just in spite to show he was strong.

Or at least stronger than these men. They carried themselves with confidence, but only Charlie's eyes held ignorance. Echo was intelligent, Peter could tell by the way he conducted himself and in the way he spoke; his choice of words weren’t meant for casual conversation. The man, now up close for the teen to examine, was smaller than Peter thought, coming in at a whopping 5'10. While the kid didn't know if that was his exact height, he did know that the man was only about two inches taller than him. An estimated guess of sorts. Charlie was big, with muscles and wide shoulders, looking strangely similar to Steve's stature.

"She doesn't have a name, dimwit. None of them did. Subject Thirty-Four was weak and unfit to take the physical and mental experiments performed on her. She was a reject and besides, you know what Alpha says about talking about failures. Don't."

Charlie huffed and crossed his arms. His black uniform stretched against his taunt bicep muscles as he flexed them, wincing slightly. Peter wanted to know why they hurt, or if he had read the man's expression wrong.

"Sorry. She was funny though- always cracking jokes- and she was the closest we ever got," The tall figure sighed. "What are we waiting for anyway? Shouldn't we start sooner rather than later?"

Echo glared at the bound boy with sophisticated anger.

"Be patient. I'm waiting to see if the chemical is going to prove to make lasting damage... if he dies, he'll be useless. Hopefully, it doesn't spread to his lungs; the last thing we need is for them to collapse. I may be a doctor, but I can't do much with the materials we have," Echo stalked towards the young teen, stepping around his trembling (no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop the shaking) body to admire their next experiment. He stopped at the wound, noticing vaguely that the kid was trying to stop the bleeding with his own ribcage. "He's smart. We'll have to ask Alpha about pronouns. He usually doesn't like it when the intelligent ones are recognized as such. It would fit better than he."

"He- uh, I mean It- looks scared. Are you sure he- shit, It’s- a good candidate?"

Echo rolled his eyes and pushed at the boy's side with the toe of his shoe, exciting a high whimper in return. The pain was blinding.

"Look at him, Charlie. Physically, he's strong, healthy and from the looks of it, heals fast. I wonder if malnutrition will slow down the healing process..."

Charlie shook his head.

"I meant mentally. He looks like he's going to shit his pants. You know what happened to Subject Twenty-Two."

The smaller man huffed, agitated, and gripped Peter's jaw tightly, examining his face. His mask had long since been discarded. "That whole situation was your fault and I’m surprising Alpha let you live after pulling a stunt like that. Give the kid a razor, what's he gonna do? Betcha didn't think he was going to slit his wrists, dumbass. We gave him Valium- I fucking warned you!"

Charlie flinched was Echo threw the boy's chin down and rushed towards his comrade.

"L-Lets just forget it!"

"You're lucky I value my life, or you'd be six feet under by now. Fine. Let's get this started before Alpha gets back and bites our heads off."

Echo moved towards a black crate in the corner, one that Peter hadn’t noticed until now. Opening it with relative ease, simply popping the clasps, he begins rustling around the large, metal box. The kid watched him with eagle eyes, but it was difficult to focus with the blinding pain at his side. Black dots flood his vision as he fought tooth and nail to keep conscious. The last thing he wanted was to be alone with these guys unconscious and at there mercy.

Charlie stares the boy down. Peter glares right on back.

“Tough guy, eh?”

Muffled by the gag, the small hero mumbles and rolls his eyes in an uncharacteristic act of defiance. The older man’s eyebrows met his hairline, but not in surprise, merely amusement. Peter quickly puts his ego in check and reminds himself that they currently have the upper hand.

“Stop talking to him, Charlie! Don’t even give him the time of day. As far as we know, he’s a dog and can’t answer, so keep it at that and while you're at it, make yourself useful. Please. Go get the Valium and get the dose ready.”

Despite being larger and more physically fit then Echo, he doesn’t argue and merely sulks out of the room. It’s quiet once more and unfortunately, Peter realizes that his side is going numb. This means he could be going into shock, and subsequently, could pass out.

Echo returns to the boy holding two objects.

In one hand, he held a circular shackle, only about an inch in thickness, open on one end but able to be connected to form a complete circle. Connected by a small semicircle were two dog tags, the engravings were too small for the boy to see from where he sat.

Resting in his other hand was a metal rod the size of a meter stick with a small point at the end that was narrower than the rod itself. It reminded the teen of a bee’s stinger, and with that thought in mind, he internally smiled. Bees had always been his favorite insect- spiders, ironically, his least favorite. His pseudo-family and May got a real kick out of that. At the thought of his surrogate family-figures, Peter felt his heart drop. He would give anything to be with them right now, so he could boast about his Spanish test success and enjoy a few movies and dinner. The hero wonders if they would be disappointed in him for failing to protect himself- for being weak. Self-doubt slowly crosses his mind and wraps itself securely around its brain.

Recently, he had been feeling good. Not just good, actually, but great.

His grades brought him to the top of his class, the decathlon team had been winning competitions left and right because of him, and his relationships had been skyrocketing. His friends were being promoted to best friends and his bullies were slowly fading into the background. The crime rate had gone down significantly and he even had enough free time to focus on himself, unknowingly realizing how terrible he was at taking care of himself. Taking responsibility now, Peter would; eat enough without being told to, go to bed at a reasonable hour, remember to drink the recommended amount of water needed in a day, and indulge in small favors for himself (such as watching a movie instead of doing homewoke to give his mind a break). All in all, life had been good.

For the first time since Ben’s death, happiness was the main emotion surrounding his everyday life.

And now this. He should have known that all good things always come to an end when he’s involved. He should have been expecting this downfall. It’s his fault for not recognizing it sooner and for not protecting himself for coming down from the high.

Passed trauma was creeping in.

Echo, ever so silent, reached forward and untied the gag, saliva following the material as it was pulled away. Mouth feeling dry, they both smacked his lips slightly and out of the blue, purses his lips and spit.

The glob of saliva hit smack-dab in the older man’s eyes.

“Ah! Son of a bitch!”

Peter didn’t think it hurt that bad- he’s been spit on before. Sudden confidence filled his lungs as he found his voice.

“Hey, you kiss your mother with that mouth? Better make sure she doesn’t hear you calling her that or you’ll have a date with a wooden spoon and a sore ass for at least a week! Actually, you look like the type of kid who didn’t get punished as a kid. Wuss.”

Echo glared, but like Charlie, showed minimal rage. Peter’s temper flared unusually so.

“It speaks... strange. It doesn’t look like the type of thing to speak without stuttering. Maybe we’ll beat the confidence out of it.”

“Listen, man. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. But it’s still on the list, so I suggest you let me go before my team comes and beats the shit out of you. Ever get punched by Iron Man? Yeah, you don’t want to. But if you don’t let me go, than today will be your lucky day!”

Echo stifles a laugh, which catches the boy off guard and for a moment, his thoughts come to a halt.

“Better to remain silent and to be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt.”

Peter wracks his brain. He hadn’t said anything demeaning towards himself and certainly nothing to make him seem like a ‘fool’. Did he? I thought that comeback was pretty good, the boy thought wearily. Tony had said his quips were getting better, and he had to agree, but something about the way Echo mocked him left a heavy rock in his gut. Did he really sound stupid?

“Are we in a-a bank?” His side was being rubbed raw against his ribcage. He decided to change the subject to ease his embarrassment.

“A bank is a place that will lend you money if you can prove you don’t need it. I don’t know, Thirty-Five, are we in a bank? Maybe we dragged you away while you were unconscious.”

_Unconscious? How long was I unconscious for? How many hours had it been? What if days had passed?!_

Peter ignored them horrible feeling and the shiver down his spine at the thought of being asleep with these creeps. He shifted ever so slightly to alleviate some of the pressure from his wound- big mistake.

“Ah! Crap-“

“Ah, ah, ah. Shut up. You wouldn’t be in pain if you had just surrendered to us after the first shot.”

Peter doesn’t answer. He doesn’t get the chance as Echo moves closer, kneeling down to the withering boy who was slowly losing energy from both the pain and exhaustion from not sleeping in over 22 hours, wavering into 23 considering he woke up at six that morning and the last time he checked the time it was nearly four into next morning. He knew he should have turned in early.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, distracting Peter just long enough for Echo’s hands to snake around his neck and attach the shackle, which immediately began to ware into his skin.

“What the hell?!”

Unable to tug at the band, he felt useless as he wasn’t able to keep his last bit of dignity. The collar, which made him feel oddly similar to a dog’s, was tight around his neck, though he bet if he yanked at it, he’d be able to read the tags from his peripheral vision. His heart began to beat wildly behind its cage, the collar’s innards suffocating him. Humiliated, tears gather in his eyes. His eyes, suddenly wide and frightful, met the scientist’s. Empty, haunted orbs stared indifferently back into his.

Charlie clambered down the stairs, large feet thumping loudly against the steps.

“Took you long enough...”

“Sorry, E,” The use of a nickname led him to believe the two were close. Brothers perhaps- or best friends. “Alpha wasn’t happy that we began without him.”

It isn’t until now that Peter looks up and stares Charlie in the face. His eyes are swollen and red, blood leaking from a split lip and dripping haphazardly onto his chin. The boy doesn’t miss the slight concern in Echo’s eyes as he observed the larger man. Protectiveness.

The look is gone as soon as it came.

“Whatever. Tell him he can come down after I administer the Valium. The subject will be pliable and unable to do much once we begin. Not because he will be physically incapable- though judging by the gunshot wound, I wouldn’t doubt that he is- but because he will have no will to fight. Notify Alpha of the side effects so he is aware of what is to be expected. I’m not suffering the same fate as last time. We should have told him suicidal tendencies were likely.”

The burly man cleared his throat. “Side effects?”

“Yes. Drowsiness, Fatigue, Dizziness, Constipation- that is unlikely if we proceed with malnutrition-, ataxia, irritability- also unlikely is he screams his throat raw like Subject- Twelve-, muscle weakness, nausea, slurred speech, skin rash, itching, and some other insignificant effects. Overall, he’ll be miserable and ours for the taking. Now, go.”

Charlie nodded slightly, wincing slightly. A concussion.

“I’ll be back,” The man makes it to the top of the stairs before he’s stopped by the smaller man’s shrill voice calling after him. He turns, eyes wide, and lips sewed shut. “What is it?”

Echo hesitates. “Be careful, okay? Don’t say something stupid and get yourself hurt again.”

A ghost of a smile haunts his lips. He nods and leaves without another word.

The exchange silences Peter into submission. It’s familiar. It reminds him, just barely, of a time when he and Tony had gotten into a rather heated argument. What it was over, the teen couldn’t remember, it was so insignificant.

His heart aches as he remembers the conversation he had between Clint that same night.

_Peter was angry. No- scratch that- he was downright furious! Ready to pop his top off! He was so flipping angry he was sure he could flip a table with no remorse and not a single flinch. If he were a cartoon, he was sure steam would be clouding from his ears._

_A voice behind him startled him from his unadulterated rage._

_“Hey, Spider-Boy,” God, he hates that name. He wasn’t a ‘kid’ and his name wasn’t ‘Spider-Boy’. It was Spider-MAN and they all knew it! They had no right to humiliate him or degrade him. Peter turns, eyes flaming, and filled with hurt. Clint stares right on back, understanding eyes filter through every emotion and then back to emotionless in less than a second. “Come on, kid, you know he didn’t mean any of that.”_

“ _Do I? Last time I checked you don’t call a kid stupid just because of one failing grade! I have an A+ in that class, Clint. He has no right to call me stupid! No fucking right!”_

_Peter doesn’t curse much. It hurts his soul and makes his tongue feel dry._

_The pain is growing. The words flow_ _freely._

 _“I know,” Barton shifts slightly, pajamas ruffling as he settled into the leather sofa, the tension in his muscles though he tried to play it off. He knew how kids worked. This should be a piece of cake. “Now, come sit down before you fall down. If I didn’t know any better, I’d_ _think you’d turn into Big Green with that look on your face. Don’t put Bruce out of a job now, kid.”_

_“You’re just like him,” Peter grumbled but complied, sitting rigidly beside his faux-uncle, enough space between them to keep the awkwardness at bay._

_He was at a loss._

_Tony’s disappointed, crest-fallen expression was enough to make Peter feel as though he’d committed a felony. Insides cracking, he found it difficult to keep himself together much longer. Resolve to fall apart, tears gathered in his eyes. He hates fighting. He hates yelling._

_He wanted to hug Tony until he popped an organ, and then some._

_Peter craved the warmth, the touch, and reassurance._

_The tears fell._

_“Hey, hey, hey. None of that, bud, no_ _need for crocodile tears,” Clint, despite the boy’s obvious attempt at remaining at a distance, moved closer to envelop the young hero in a gentle embrace. A hand in the boy’s hair, he rests his other appendage on his back, slowly rubbing back and forth as he felt the familiar feeling of a damp face press into the crook of his neck, hiding his eyes. He shushed the boy, rocking back and forth_ _slightly. It wasn’t the same as Stark’s hugs, but considering it was the billionaire himself at the other end of the stick, Clint would have to do. “Listen, kid, people say things they don’t mean all the time. It’s human nature. The heat of the moment comes and bam! Words come out that weren’t supposed to.”_

_“Th-That just means h-he was thinkin’ them the wh-whole time.”_

_“Oh, no, kid. That’s not what that mean_ s. _It means he cares about you. He wouldn’t push you so hard if he didn’t think you could handle it. It’s motivation, sport.”_

_That doesn’t help._

_If anything, it makes everything worse._

_Peter’s sobs don’t let up, and he wishes desperately to be in his pseudo father’s arms. If only he were angry at someone else._

_“I-I try, a-a-and he called me st-stupid! That just m-makes me want to give up! Wh-Why would I try if h-he already th-thinks I’m a l-lost cause?”_

_It’s at that moment that Peter realizes how irrational he’s being._

_This has been the first time Tony ever degraded him in a long time. And ev_ en _before, it wasn’t exactly insults being thrown at him. Sure, hurtful words were spat, but none of which consisted of the words ‘get out’ or ‘don’t ever call me again’. That had to count for something, right? That had to mean that Stark didn’t what to abandon him!_

_Clint doesn’t say anything else that night._

_Neither does Peter._

_They sit in silence, relishing in each other’s company until the next morning. The tension is so thick, it could be cut by a knife. So, the boy keeps his head low_ _and avoids direct contact with his mentor, gaining the attention of the team. He regrets not going back to May’s the night before to avoid the awkwardness of the morning after the fight. And yet, as he grabs his backpack without having said a single word the entire morning, a sing_ le _voice stops him in his tracks as he heads toward the elevator._

 _“Peter,” It’s Tony, looking frazzled and_ _sleep-deprived. The boy is ravished by guilt. “Have a good day, kid. Love you.”_

_Despite everything, Tony still loved him._

_A funny, warm feeling forms in Peter’s gut that follows him around all day._

He thinks about Clint’s words. Though they didn’t necessarily help at the time, as he thought about them now, they seemed relevant. Peter should have gotten an A on that chemistry quiz. Instead, he got a D+ because he didn’t study when Tony told him to. That was on him. But even after disobeying direct orders, causing a scene and spewing hurtful words, Tony didn’t give up on him.

Tony didn’t abandon him.

Not like his parents, or his Uncle Ben.

Echo is staring at the place Charlie once stood. His eyes are glassy and unfocused. Peter, ever the empath, can see straight through his facade. Whether it be he was being forced to kidnap the boy, or he was doing it for his own selfish needs, there was regret. Something told him he wasn’t meant to hurt these “subjects”. Peter thinks that something is Charlie.

The name is warming up to him.

“Take these,” The man opens his palm to reveal three capsules. It seemed as though he forgot about the boy’s lack of arm mobility because he blanches for a moment before holding his palm up to the kid’s lips. “Open,” Peter does, despite his better judgment, and lets the pills settle on his tongue. Hope is diminishing as time passes. Tony wasn’t here yet- probably didn’t even know he was missing. Maybe the genius wouldn’t ever come... maybe he thought Peter wasn’t worth saving. The teen’s heart sinks at the thought. “Good boy. Take it with water, here, open. Good boy.”

The praise makes him blush, utterly humiliated.

“Why are you doing this?”

Echo freezes before silently picking up the metal rod he had placed on the floor in favor of holding the drugs. He inspects it with a hollow look in his eyes before meeting Peter’s fearful gaze.

“The world is a dangerous place- a filthy place with horrible low-life’s. It’s our job to fix it. We- I- if more people were stronger, more self-sufficient and kind, the world wouldn’t be the way it is. Alpha made me realize that the world won’t change unless you take action, so that’s what we’re doing. It was hard with normal kids, they weren’t special and trying to toughen them always ended in their demise, but you! Oh, you are the perfect candidate for our experiment. With you, we can figure out how to make the world a better place, to fix the people who broke it and make them good again. Once we find out what makes you tick, we can apply it to the new generation and make them them the differing variable! They will make humans the superior creatures both mentally and physically, ensuring our survival and lead our species indestructible. Evolution is bound to happen, Subject Thirty-Five, and you’re going to help us speed it up.”

Peter sat in stunned silence before yelping at a sudden pain. Echo’s boot-clad foot toed at the hole in his side, rubbing against burnt flesh and grinding bones. Crying out, the tears that threatened to spill did just that, his last resolve fading.

“St-Stop! Please, stop, stop, stop! Ha-Hold on. Y-You’re doing this to make the next gen-generation enhanced?!”

“You’re smart, Thirty-Five. You will do nicely, the world thanks you for your contribution.”

Before Peter can stutter out another word, the metal rod is stabbed into his side, slicing through blackened flesh. A sudden surge of pain flashes through the boy’s body as he convulses in a silent scream, trembling until he topples over. The rod continues to electrocute him, fire burning through his veins as his eyes roll back into his head. Echo watches on with apathetic eyes. Peter screams, once, horrified and in shock at the intense pain and burning sensation radiating through his body. The pain is like nothing he’s ever felt before.

“Pl-Please! Please... stop, I-I want to go home! Please, please, I-I’ll does anything. Jus-Just let me go home, please. I want to- want to go home.”

“I’m tired of being nice to people who don’t give a shit about me.”

The last thing Peter sees before the pain takes over and drags him into a dark, empty abyss is a hatch being opened in the middle of the mostly empty room. Unsure, still dizzy with pain, his body is dragged lazily across the concrete floor, leaving a streak of crimson in his wake. His body is thrown with little care into the hole the hatch had previously covered. The entirety of the small hole is constructed of brick and concrete, scratching painfully at his skin.

Looking up with tired, watery eyes, Peter sees the door slowly close.

Trapped in darkness, he screams.

It begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are literally the best. I cannot thank you enough for all the kind words you have all offered in the wake of my last chapter. You all gave me a reason to keep going and find strength in myself. So, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You are all beyond kind and I love you all to the moon and back. I like this chapter, so if you have any mean comments, please keep them to yourself (unless it’s constructive criticism- I love knowing what I could do better!) because I enjoyed writing and reading this chapter. Hopefully you guys did too! This story will go kind of slow at first, but I promise things will get more heated in the up and coming chapters, so stay tuned!
> 
> Feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lots of love- Lara (idk if I mentioned my real name in a different story but I’ll be signing my notes with it now, just an fyi) <3


	5. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuck in a confused, cold purgatory in his mind, Peter finds himself seeing climaxes of memories he never remembered making. From high school bullies to basic hygiene, he learns that his life wasn’t as simple as he had hoped it would be. It takes him three days and a bath to receive the heart-wrenching news that the one woman he was glad to remember, was never coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what we love? Killing off characters to make the plot easier! That, and I find writing Aunt May’s character rather difficult. I’m sorry! Anyways... welcome back! It’s been awhile, but I won’t bombard you all with excuses.
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Mentioned Minor Character Death  
> -Very Light Gore

_Eighteen Months and Three Days Later..._

Peter's sudden aversion to people didn't come as a surprise. While it seemed to happen over night considering the boy hadn't minded the warm cuddles Tony offered the first night, no one could say they didn't see it coming. He was apprehensive, naturally, and refused to talk despite the immense fear he felt at being punished for ignoring these new people. The teen ached to be back in his hole, as horrible and dark as it was. 

At least there, he was safe.

It wasn't out in the open, leaving him at the mercy of whomever he was with. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't fully trust these strangers with open arms.

They were unpredictable. They moved fast and talked a lot.

That being said, the only one he has technically met was Tony. The others occasionally stopped by, but they never entered the room fully. For that, Peter (he was so excited- he had a name) was grateful.

Tony tried to talk to him, but the boy merely turned away, curling into the tightest ball, used to being in a cramped position for prolonged periods of time. The man kept mentioning something about a shower, but Peter didn't know what that entailed. The word sounded familiar, as did others such as "jello" and "juice", which they tried to feed him. But he knew better, and avoided them knowing they'd most likely had been drugged. See, he was smart. All he knew was that during this so-called shower, he'd be clean, and that in itself was appealing.

He couldn't remember a time where he wasn't drenched in blood, sweat, excrements and tears.

Tony had also offered a new set of clothes.

Peter didn't see what the big deal about new clothes was, but the older man's face at lit up when he arrived at the room with two large pieces of fabric and three smaller ones. The "clothes" were soft and the man let the boy run his fingers over the forgiving material before explaining that he got to actually wear them. Looking down at the fabric the woman had put on him, open at the back and leaving him vulnerable, he decided that the clothes Tony brought were better than the gown. The only reason he knew what it was called was because he heard another woman- with bright hair- mention that his "gown" was getting dirty and could cause a serious infection.

Whatever that meant.

Peter found himself spiraling into a different dimension. All he knew was that one moment he was drifting in an empty expanse of black and occasionally gifted with the companion of the hands, and the next he was surrounded by new people, places, smells and sights. It still hadn't hit him completely that his whole life had been a lie.

His name was Peter Parker.

He was a Somebody.

That thought made a glittery warmth spread all throughout his body.

It felt nice in contrast to the cold room he was stuck in. He had been so used to constant sweating and sudden chills that the constant temperature was startling. Even the blankets that covered his shaking body weren't thick enough to cease his constant trembling and clattering teeth despite the warm material. Tony often came to the room carrying extra sheets and blankets to pile on the bed, creating a small nest, but it did little.

The loneliness of the room was different from that of his hole.

In his hole- back at home, he reminds himself- being by himself was inevitable. He couldn't choose to have a companion. Here, all he had to do was call out or press the small red button beside his bed for someone to come barreling in, offering confort. It was strange to him.

The boy's thoughts were interrupted for the first time that morning by the door opening softly.

The sight of a familiar man brought a shy smile to Peter's lips. He still didn't understand the expression, but it felt nice and he couldn't care much to stop himself.

"Morning, kiddo!"

The man's voice was so cheerily and full of life, it scared Peter. The hand's voices were always so rough and hesitant, even if the limbs offered his only comfort, that he had grown used to being manhandled or hurt. Tony seemed to be the whole package. His hands were calloused and grounding, his voice was soft and he was excellent at reassuring the boy during times of fright. Despite this, Peter found himself missing the hands anyways. They were his main source of happiness, and he couldn't help but crave their touch.

Peter, deciding to end his strike, answered back.

"Hi."

It was one of the first words he had officially 'learned' as Tony put it. Anything before them was conditioned and came out simply due to fear and exhaustion. This was the first word he spoke with prompting.

"It speaks!" Tony laughed.

So, these people had the same pronouns as the hands? Why had he even mentioned the name 'Peter' if they were just going to call him 'It'? Not that he had a problem with the name, he was quite used to he referred to as anything rather than a he. And he certainly never had a real name.

These people never ceased to confuse him.

"Thought..." Peter weighs his options, thinks about possible punishments, and then throws all his worries out the window. "Thought my name was Peter?"

Tony raised an eyebrow. "It is, kid. That was just a figment of speech. Anyways, we have a busy day ahead of us and I don't know about you but I'm dying to get started!"

"Busy?" Peter asked in confusion.

"Lots of stuff to do, Underoos. And at the top of our list is a bath. Hate to say this, kid, but you smell."

Fear grasped him by the heart.

Bath? What was a bath? He thought they were going to give him a shower, and now they're giving him a bath. What did that entail? Was that another word for shower? No, it couldn't be. Bath meant bath and shower meant shower, they couldn't mean the same thing. It wasn't possible.

"Bath?"

Tony rolled his eyes, though not unkindly, and grinned. "You got it kid. Don't worry, it's easier than a shower cause you'll be sitting down, but I must admit the thought of sitting in my own grime is sorta unappealing. I don't know- maybe that's just me! Bottom line, kid, you'll be clean and the nice doctors can heal you right up."

Peter's eyes worry, pupils dilated in fear and iris wobbling like jello around hollowed sockets.

His memory evaded him. A life before the darkness, before the hands and before the pain seemed nearly impossible. And for some odd reason, he found comfort in the man he met merely three days ago! It took him awhile to touch the hands, mostly because the rods that stung him grew from the arms the hands were attached to. When the hands arrived free of the painful rods, they offered nothing but warmth. He deducted that their were two sets of hands, which he vaguely remembers calling Echo and Charlie. After his his last moments in the hole, where he remembered nothing but a hazy darkness, he began to recall the smaller things.

Like how he was fed cinnamon-raisin bagels.

Or like how Charlie and Echo were two completely different people personality wise. Echoes was smart, cunning and even emotionless at times. While Charlie was expressive, sympathetic and even a little air-headed.

Peter doesn't register the IV slipping from the crook of his elbow. And as his body is lifted, he finds himself staring into Tony's eyes with unadulterated fear.

Then, Tony looks down at him.

They meet eyes.

" _Jesus, kid. What the hell did you get yourself into now?" Tony whistled lowly, but immediately took from his place beneath his favorite BMW, grease staining his hands and dirtying his hands. He wipes them on a nearby towel, eyes trembling with worry._

_Peter walks further into the workshop. It's not a lab day, which is why his heart is beating a thousand miles an hour and he feels more guilty than relieved at seeing his mentor's face. He hadn't meant to stop by. What he meant to do was run his behind al the way home to cry in a mirror while patching himself up (like he usually does). But something gravitated him towards Tony today, and even though the man told him he could stop by anytime, he still felt like a burden._

" _He-Hey, Mr. Stark."_

_"Didn't I tell you to stop calling me that? It makes me feel like an old man! Now, come here and tell me what the hell happened to your gorgeous face."_

_Peter rolls his eyes and smiles fondly, though his eyes fill with unshed tears and his lip wobbles trying to hold them back._

_He steps forward despite his better judgement and is immediately pushed down onto the open couch Tony put in_ _just for him. The billionaire's hand comes to cup at his jaw, his thumb pulling at the teen's split lip with concern. Peter winces but allows the man to search his face for anymore injuries. The man's gaze lingers on a gash on his forehead for a moment to long and his eyes soften._

_"I'm fine. I promise, Mr. Stark."_

_"Fine my ass, Mr. Parker. Looks like tha_ t _cut might need a butterfly bandage. Did you know that I didn't even know those existed until, like, a week ago? Totally bogus, is that what kids nowadays are saying?"_

_He's just rambling to distract Peter from the pain of poking and prodding at his bleeding injuries, and subconsciously, the kid knows that. That didn't necessarily mean it wasn't working. However, the humor slowly disappeared as he thought about the situation that led him to this whole mess._

_Flash Thompson was a jerk._

_He rarely got physical. Flash was the type of guy who acted like he would, but wouldn't actually have the guts to go up and punch someone he thought was below him. He was overly confident, arrogant and rich. The three worst traits to have in a somewhat genius kid with daddy-issues. But Peter wasn't about to say that out loud because, obviously, he wasn't a totally douchebag. So, of course, Thompson gets the brilliant idea to put his money towards a good cause._

_Hiring someone to beat the snot out of Peter Parker is a wimp move._

_"Kid? Hey, Peter, what's wrong? Tell me what happened so I can fix it.”_

_He hadn't even noticed he was crying until Tony's hands were cradling his jaw and his thumbs were wiping away the tears._

_"People are d-dicks."_

_And that's all that needed to be said before Tony's arms are wrapped tightly around his small body, holding on with vigor. If Peter didn't know any better,_ _he'd assume that the older man thought he'd turn to dust right there and then. But he doesn't dwell on that though for long, because his mind's barrier is suddenly broken and wretched sobs are escaping his lips like no tomorrow. He muttering something about not being weak, and how he wasn't as pathetic as everyone thought he was. How he wasn't a burden. How he was smart. How Flash Thompson just had to be wrong! The teen is a blubbering mess, thinking back to every time Flash has ever insulted_ _him, each word stabbing through his bleeding heart._

_Peter tells him what happened around stuttering wails. How he had been insulted endlessly all day until, finally, he was jumped in the courtyard and got the shit best out of him, earring him a bruised eye, a split lip, a bruised torso and a gash on his forehead._

_“Was it that Thompson kid again? I swear to god Pete if it was him I’ll-“_

“ _It w-wasn’t him. Not re-really. B-But, Tony, wh-what he said-... am I really a-a-“_

_No other words need to be exchanged aside from Tony's soft muttering and gentle reassurances. Peter tells him what happened, from the hurtful insults to the cowardliness of his childhood bully._

_"No, kid, whatever it is- no. You're the best kid I know, Underoos. Flash is just jealous, and besides, he has a stupid name. His opinion is irrelevant. And the fact that he has to pay someone to hurt you is cowardly and humiliating. You_ _automatically win, kiddo. Who wouldn't be jealous of you? You're smart, and nice- oh! And a totally kick-ass superhero!"_

_A strangled laugh escapes Peter's lips. "Yeah, b-but they don't kn-know that. Doesn't count."_

_"Sure it does," Tony scoffs. "That Thompson kid can barely lift a pen. You can lift dump trucks, for fuck's sake._ _Trust me when I say you win by default. Besides, you're a better person that than asshole could ever be."_

_"Do you mean it?"_

_Tony closes his eyes. Sometimes, the kid could be so stupid._

_"Of course, Peter. Every word."_

_The use of his first name is all the evidence the teen needs to know his mentor is telling the truth. A warm flutter sprouts in his stomach._

_In the end, it doesn't matter what Eugene "Flash" Thompson says about Peter Parker._

_Because he isn't friends with a superhero._

_Scratch that- it has nothing to do with the fact that Iron Man was Peter's essential father-figure. At the end, truly, Peter was simply a better person in general. And with that, any commen_ t _Flash makes about his is immediately wrong._

_Peter realizes that Flash doesn’t know him, not really, and therefor cannot say a single bad thing about him. That thought makes him smile into Tony's warm shoulder._

_The night ends with a Disney movie marathon, greasy cheese pizza and falling asleep on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms._

Peter blinks, utterly confused.

A suddenly realization washed over him. It's like a random puzzle piece appeared out of thin air and is now waiting for it's brothers to create the complete picture. So, he goes over the newly presented information and feels oddly lost.

Eugene "Flash" Thompson: the kid that bullied Peter Parker (him) from second grade until sophomore year (now). He calls Peter names such as (but not limited to), retard, loser, nerd, geek, freak, idiot, dumbass, and fag. And for some reason, that really hurt. It hurt more than any beating he's taken, or any punch to his face or kick to his gut. It hurts more than the stinging rods that the hands seem to fond of using. The words, ever prominent in the forefront of his mind, seem to darken his world as an ungodly grey filter covers his eyes.

But, then there's Tony. Tony holds him, rocks his back and forth until his sobs subside and he can actually breathe again. The man takes the aftermath of the hurtful words and fixes it until the screen seems to become a bit more clearer and the sky opens up to reveal a bright blue sky and a warm sun.

"Tony," Peter whispers. It isn't his voice that has the older man's head snapping to meet the boy's eyes, but it's how he says his name. The recognition in his eyes is unexpected. "Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist."

Tony can't help but laugh.

It's a choked sound, drowned out by the onslaught of tears that have gathered in his wide eyes. His heart is beating wildly behind it's cage, aching to be let out. His gut is rolling, his lunch begging to crawl up his throat and be expelled. Seemingly the weight of the world is lifted from his broad shoulders, and for the first time in a year and a half... he can breathe.

Peter remembers him.

Maybe it's selfish- he's sure it is- but something about the fact that Peter remembered him first is exciting.

"That's right, kiddo. Well, I mean... technically, ex-Playboy, but you have it right," Tony smirks.

"You- you used to protect me from Flash Thompson. The kid on my decathlon team. And you used to help me on my science fair projects. You like Thai food and video games but you don’t play then often because something- someone always beats you and makes you upset. You build stuff, robots and machines and you’re a- your Iron Man. You saved me from- from the hole. Oh, thank you."

The man smiles fondly, of a bit sadly and nods. They've made it to the attached bathroom, fit with a bathtub that also acts as a shower, a sink and a few cabinets. Peter's eyes flutter around the room, long eyelashes dotted with moisture he hadn't realized accumulated there. His tearful eyes close briefly and he hopes another memory will come to him as he hops from one object to another. It doesn't. 

"You’re right, kid. Did you-... you remembered something?”

“Yes. You.”

Tony lets off a huff of a chuckle. “That’s one hell of a person to remember.”

“And a kid- Flash? I don’t really- I’m confused.”

“That’s okay, just relax. Flash Thompson? That kid was a douche bag from all angles. I still can't believe he had the audacity to bully you. You know, it's not below me to beat up a kid, especially a kid like Eugene."

"You didn't have to, though. You win by default," The familiar phrase earns him a passing glance from the older man.

"Nah, it's called being a decent human being."

"What makes a decent human being?"

"Well," The older genius' eyes glaze over for a brief second before focusing once again. "It's doing what is right no matter what you think, or what backwards opinions you might have. It's like, if, say that Eugene kid was on the sidewalk, beaten to all hell, you'd still help him because it's the right thing to do. You wouldn't let him suffer because he bullied you. It's like that, kid."

Peter nods absentmindedly. "I'd like to be a decent human being, one day."

Tony only smiles. “You already are one, kiddo. Even if you don’t remember it.”

There's running water, and Peter's eyes can't stray from the rushing stream.

Was this a bath?

Peter feels like he's running down a dark hallway. There's doors on either side of him, and yet when he goes to open them, they're locked and show no signs of relenting to his eager attempts. He's so utterly lost, so unsure of what to do next, that the moment has passed and he no longer is trying to break in through a door that's locked. He's opening another one now, and all he sees is that blasted memory of Flash Thompson berating him and Tony's strong arms protecting him. A lovely memory- his only, and his favorite- but it isn't enough. It's like he's living in someone else's body and is expected to live their life. The kid wants nothing more than for his head to shut up. Before, when he was in the hole (his mind tells him to switch from his hole to the hole, for a reason he doesn't know) his mind was free to wander about nothingness. He didn't have to think. Now, his brain won't shut off. It's like it's about to explode, and the pain is pounding against his skull like a drum.

A drum. He knows what that is, despite not remembering ever seeing one before.

The kid's body is being lifted before he can even comprehend what's happening and slowly being deposited in the water-filled tub.

Pure fear courses through him as he stifles a scream.

Gripping Tony's shirt (shirt? That's what it was...) he struggled desperately to avoid the water, limbs shaking uncontrollably. In an attempt to escape his watery doom, the small boy tried to climb over his attackers back, however, it was useless.

"Woah, woah, woah! Relax, kid. It's okay, it's only water. It won't hurt you, I promise. It'll make you feel better."

"H-Hurt, please don't. I-I'll be good- please, I promise I'll be good!"

He remembers pleading, even if it is only a transparent memory he can hardly grasp. But there's voices in his head, telling him that if he follows their orders and is a good boy, then he won't get hurt anymore than he has to. He listens to the voices, finding comfort in their stern orders. Tony was too flimsy, to carefree. He was used to rules, harsh words and cool glances. It meant order, and order meant stability, and stability meant the likelihood of him getting punished went down significantly.

"Woah, uh, woah! Peter? Calm down, okay, alright. Jeez, kid, you're like a monkey. Listen, the water won't hurt you, kiddo, I promise. It's only to get you clean so the doctors can fix your wounds. Hey, hey. Can you look at me, Pete?" When the young boy continues to only thrash, dead-set on getting out and ways from the warm water, Tony finds something inside himself breaking. And in that moment, whatever was left of his ache heart shattered. "Peter! Look at me!"

The reaction is instantaneous.

Peter's body stills, bones taunt and arms shaking under the pressure of holding up his body weight. His legs was frozen, clutched around the older man's waist as his body convulsed with sobs he intended on keeping inside. The boy's eyes are wide and weary, staring on a spot on the wall as if it were about to kill him. His lips tremble, tears cascading down his flushed cheeks.

Guilt grasps at the older hero with an iron grip.

"I-I'm sorry... I-I-I'm so s-sorry. I d-don't know what I-I... I'm so sorry," Peter mumbled obsessively.

But Tony can't answer. His mind is in a whole other place. All he can think about is that fact that he had yelled at a traumatized child simply because he was scared.

Peter can feel the fear pulsating beneath his skin, ripping him apart from the inside out.

"No, no. Stop apologizing. Please, Peter, just look at me for a second," Tony finds himself cradling a half-naked, petrified boy in his arms at the edge of the bathtub. He sits with his legs crossed on the cold tile, Peter, as small as can be, sitting in his lap without having moved an inch. Stark holds one of his hands at the boy's lower back, helping him up, while the other comes to handle his head at the nape of his neck. He runs at the skin there, fingers brushing through his long and greasy hair. When he finally meets the younger's eyes, he finds that any speech he had planned was lost in his overactive mind. So innocent, and yet so dull and afraid. This was not the Peter he knew. No, this was a horrible imposter. Tony sighs and lets his muscles relax as the dripping of the faucet echoes through the small room. “What a mess we got ourselves into, huh, Pete? I know you don't remember me much, but you know I never stopped looking for you, right? I didn't once give up on you."

Peter's blown-out eyes waver.

"No matter how hopeless it looked, we never once thought that you might've been- dead. I wouldn't believe it. It was like every lead we had led to a dead-end and for a long time, I thought I'd never see you again. But I never gave up, you know? I'd never give up on you."

The boy's head tilts down, the glare of the overhead lights fading.

"What are you to me?" Peter ignores the man. He was to utterly confused to initiate in a conversation like that, where he had no idea what the man was even talking about to begin with. He knows Tony Stark- the facts, the statistics, his life, but not the emotional baggage or the relationships. He only knows that he is a Somebody to this man, and the man is a Somebody to Peter.

Tony mulls over the question, seemingly at a mental road block before he stutters out an answer.

"We were friends, before. Well, more that friends I’d say. I mentored you, and you'd... come over every week to work on projects and hang out and such. You... you nearly called me ‘dad’ once, and it felt good to hear you say it, even if you didn’t get the full word out. I’d like to think I was more than a mentor. But, things have changed since you went missing, and now I'm not quite sure what I am to you anymore."

That's good enough for Peter. He's too tired to pry more.

"I trusted you? Before?"

Tony's eyes widen and for a split-second, Peter wonders if he said the wrong thing and flinches. "With your life."

"You can," Peter indicates towards the water before hesitating and silently chewing on his lower lip. "You can put me in the water now. I-I trust you."

A spark of color flashes in Tony's vision. A part of him was slowly being put back together at hearing those three small words, which showed that even if it didn't seem like it, the real Peter was still there. He was simply buried under a lifetime of amnesia, months of torture (to which, Tony didn't know the extent of), and emotional torment. But he was still there, somewhere, and that was enough for now.

The philanthropist nodded and stood on his knees, the boy still tightly wrapped in his arms.

He painstakingly ignored the look of poorly disguised terror on Peter's face as he lowered him into the water. The kid gasped as his clothed back side made contact with the lukewarm water below him, but he didn't claw away from it.

Soon enough, he was submerged up to his stomach, his legs drawn up to his chest, feeling oddly vulnerable in only the clothing covering his lower half. He had been stripped of the gown, leaving his legs bare up to his thighs and his chest open down to his navel.

The water was different from how he remembered it in the hole.

There, the water was either scorching hot or freezing cold, neither one better than the other. It either left him shivering and on the verge of hypothermia, or with lasting blisters that scarred horribly against his pale skin.

Tony rubbed a wash cloth gently across his bruised skin, using as minimal body wash as possible to not aggravate his open wounds.

Peter sat and obediently waited for the man to finish whatever he was doing. He used Peter’s favorite scent of shampoo, Sour Green Apple, and smiled when the boy asked to smell it straight from the bottle.

"You know, the team really missed you."

Peter's eyebrows furrow. "The team?"

"That's what I said. Steve went a little crazy, I won't lie. All he did was bake apple pies and blueberry muffins, which were usually gone by the end of the day. Clint spent a lot of time in the air vents, sometimes days, but I suspect he had a stash of junk food up there or something 'cause he's still a little tubby. Nat wouldn't leave the training room, and when she did, she was out on the town looking for you. She wouldn't stop until she knew you were safe. Thor ate a lot, but he somehow still has those godly- that was a good one- muscles. I'm a little envious I won't lie! We didn't see a lot of Bruce. He rarely left his lab, but occasionally he'd come upstairs to grab some boxes of tea, but I don't now how he hasn't starved to death yet. Poor guy. Rhodey hasn’t been around that often and Pepper has been trying to keep everyone together."

The names are familiar, and yet he can't put faces to them. The young boy looks up at his supposed mentor wide wide, innocent eyes that were, in reality, far from.

"What about you?"

Tony looks stunned for a moment before regaining his composure and clearing his throat. "I suppose I did a lot. I-I mean you could say I was a mixture of Brucey-Bear and Nat. There was no evidence, Peter, you have to understand that. You practically fell off the face of the earth, no one could find anything that connected to your whereabouts. No witnesses, no other victims that we knew at the time, and no possible attackers. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, kid. I never stopped looking, though. Even if you don't trust me like you used to, or you don't love me like before, you just gotta believe me when I say I didn't have one good night's sleep for eighteen months. Your guardian- Aunt May- was devastated beyond belief. Nothing could calm her down, not even Natasha, who somehow turned into a 'May-Whisperer'. After a year passed, she just fell apart."

Flashes of images race through Peter's head. A woman, slight shorter than him with long, straight, brown hair and dainty glasses. She was thin, and to most, would seem fragile, but inside she was a force to be revoked with.

_Aunt May's horrible spaghetti and meatballs that she insisted on making no matter how badly they always came out._

_Her dorky laugh that more often than not, involved snorting and suffocating at the loss of air._

_The woman's ability to stand up for herself and her child when anyone dared to hurt them. Peter doesn't know how he could forget his Aunt May's ability to shut down a cat-caller without even having to open her mouth._

_Those grotesque cookies she made whenever someone knew moved into the partement complex._

A dull ache settles in his heart as he thinks about the woman. He wanted to see her, to have her hold him and rock him and tell him everything was going to be okay in the end. The absence of May's thin arms linked around his small body left a gaping hole in his soul. His brain begs for a thunderstorm, so he can sneak into her bedroom in the middle of the night in search of comfort.

He never did like loud noises, but after homecoming, he was even less tolerant.

"Where is my Aunt May?" Peter whispered softly into the quietness.

The water became cold as he was silently picked up and swaddled in a soft, fluffy blanket. Tony took his time drying his hair and every other inch of his body before leaving briefly to bring in the clothes rom earlier. Peter stripped without a hint of humility, not at all bothered by his nakedness, and with the help of the older man, dressed in the soft garments. They warmed him up instantly.

Now sitting on the bed, waiting for the doctors to come back and re-apply the IVs and such, Peter though about May.

Overwhelming dread overtakes him. He thinks the worse. May promised she would never leave him the day after Ben (Uncle Ben- it's coming back to him) died. She knew how heartbroken he was, how alone and guilty he felt and so she promised she would never leave him to ease his suffering. But now, as Peter is faced with the excruciating silence of this cold, bland room, he realizes how many lies he has been told. Flash Thompson told him he was stupid, but he knew in fact that he was practically a certified genius. Ben Parker told him that he was the best kid he's ever met, and nothing would ever change that, but as images of the man's dead body float through his mind, he knows that was a fib. Another kid, to which he cannot remember the name of, tells him he is the coolest superhero ever, but Iron Man already exists so that can't be true. A girl, who's name is also a mystery, says he is actually pretty cool for a nerd, but he knows deep down that he's just another loser (courtesy of one Flash Thompson).

So, when May's voice fills his mind with an empty promise of never leaving, he knows it was a lie.

The words don't even have to leave Tony's mouth. Peter already knows. Something deep in his bones tells him that he will never get to lay in the arms of his aunt ever again.

"She couldn't handle it, kiddo. It wasn't your fault, okay? Do you understand that? After everything that happened... she didn't have any hope left and-and it was too much for her. She loved you, so much, and she wouldn't want you to blame yourself. Kid? Underoos? Do you understand me? It wasn't your fault."

Yes, people lied a lot to Peter Parker in his short life time. He supposed he had his fair share of fibbing as well. He promised he'd come home that day and tell his Aunt May what an amazing grade he got on his Spanish test. He said he'd walk in that apartment with a big, red A+ on his paper.

He never made it home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I’m so glad to be back and writing again. This chapter has been in the works for a long time and I actually really like it. I love writing flashbacks for some reason. Anyways, my soccer club had to stop practices because two players tested positive for the virus, and my sister’s boyfriend tested positive too. Scary stuff. I hope you all are staying SAFE and HEALTHY, and are reading all the fanfiction you possibly can! I know I am! :)
> 
> Feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lots of love- Lara <3


	6. Sebastian Davis’ Day Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knows what’s happening it wrong, that he could be doing better things with his slowly worsening life, but he still does nothing to change it. It seems like fate, almost, that he ended up with a job like torturing people for the- what was it again?
> 
> Oh, yes. The betterment of society.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thai is told in the “POV” of one of Peter’s captors (Echo) so Peter’s emotions aren’t deviled into in this chapter, obviously. But their is some whump, angst and a lil bit of torture ;) Please enjoy!
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Electrocution  
> -Mentions of Blood  
> -Unintentional Self-Injury

_Seventeen Months Earlier..._

_“Saturday, September 15th, 2019- Data Log #1- 3:45 A.M._

_Subject: Peter Benjamin Parker_

_Age: Sixteen_

_Sex: Male_

_Alias: Spider-Man_

_Enchantments: Super strength, speed, durability, agility, stamina, reflexes/reactions, coordination, balance and endurance. Precognitive "spider-sense" ability. Can cling to most solid surfaces. Genius intellect (undetermined whether or not this is a result of powers or predetermined from birth)._

_Future Tests: Resilience to electrocution (volts unknown ATM), ability to hold breath for extended periods of time (stronger body = stronger lungs = longer time???), endurance, rate of exhaustion, body's reaction to lack of substance (high metabolism = need for more substance = faster rate of change when substance is taken away???), strength test (recorded that it can carry at least the weight of a truck, possibly more), rate of healing, mental capability when put under immense pressure or stress._

_Procedure- Scheduled for Tuesday, September 18th: UNKNOWN/DETERMINED AT LATER TIME."_

Sebastian Davis leaned back in his rickety office-chair, wheels creaking in the crepuscular silence. The man stretched his arms over his head and winced at the series of painful cracks that ran up his spine at the motion. Damn, if forty-two was this bad, he'd hate to make it to fifty.

The blue-light of his dingy computer screen ripped at his retinas as he stares longingly into the obnoxious white of his Word document.

He had been working nonstop for a month now.

Exhaustion clawed at his bones as he stood on shaky legs, turning, he couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight of his oaf of a brother. The older man was poking around at the hole, the metal swatch in his hand teasing the creature inside. A pale arm reached out and swatted away at the stick, but the offender only laughed and continued his teasing. This was certainly not work. Sebastian fought the urge to roll his eyes again as he strolled over to his brother and snatched the swatch out of his hand, lips set in a permanent scowl.

"Stop messing with it, Charlie."

He hated the code names. They were so cliche, so unprofessional! So last season, Sebastian joked to himself, though he didn't show his humor on his face. Who even cared if the subject knew their names? It's not like It was ever going to leave this place alive.

But the scientist also knew better than to argue with the ring-leader, Declan Watson. The man would have his head if he didn't follow direct orders. So, he listened like a good little dog, called the others by their code names and did as he was told. For the betterment of man-kind, as "Alpha" always said.

Sebastian's brother, Vincent, jumped back as his younger brother glowered at him. He glanced back into the hole, a pair of honey-brown, wide eyes glaring at him with fury. He felt cornered between his brother's icy stare and the subject's angry eyes baring holes into his very soul.

"Sorry, E. He was being really loud I just wanted to make sure he wasn't going, y'know, loopy."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, though not unkindly. Ever since childhood, Vincent had been rather air-headed. He was a scholar in the sports department, a real jock and star football player. He probably would have made it pro too, if they hadn't gotten caught up in this whole mess. Somehow, Sebastian knows that Vincent blames him for what happened when they were younger, getting roped into a whole new world simply because they met a man at university. Sebastian's chemistry professor had been very adamant that he help the older man with a "project" he had been planning for years. For having such a high IQ, the young man had been stupid for agreeing.

Torturing children for a "better future" was the last thing either of them wanted to do with their lives.

Sebastian looked down at their experiment, eyes softening just barely when he makes eye contact with two Bambi-like orbs. Why do we always have to take kids? The man thought to himself bitterly, cursing Declan to hell and back. He supposed he had become rather numb to the prospect of hurting children after doing it for so long under his boss' supervision. That didn't make it any better, and it certainly didn't lessen his guilt, but it sometimes helped. He found himself painting a facade of a hardened, emotionless, narcissist to help ward off the horrible thoughts and memories that come along with listening to children scream as they are brutalized.

Although, more often than not, Sebastian wishes he were more like his older brother- sensitive and not afraid to show emotion.

Maybe that's why Vincent had always been the better son. The one their father loved. The one that was great at sports, had more friends than any other person at school, and was the resident 'golden boy' in the family. The younger male often thought about how different his life would had been if his childhood was better; if his father hadn't hit him, ignored him, disowned him and humiliated him. 

But he rather not dwell on the past.

After all, this whole thing is about the future.

"It, Charlie. If you keep calling It a He then the tests won't work. Don't you get it? Now, go get the room ready for the field tests, a month has already passed and you and I both know all to well that procrastination doesn't bode well with Alpha."

"Yes, sir."

Vincent, although older, always felt the need to call his brother 'sir' when the were working. Whether it be the fact that Sebastian was technically his superior, or that Alpha just liked him better, well, he wasn't quite sure. All he knew was that it made Sebastian preen and glow, and that was enough for him. His brother never smiled like he did all those years ago.

The broader man left, leaving the young scientist with his experiment.

Sebastian crouched down to get a closer look at his prized possession, eyes lingering on every protruding bone and every slowly fading bruise. It's injuries were healing slower than usual, which was an immediate observation the scientist made a mental note to right down.

It's suit, which had been colorful and vibrant before, was now caked with dust, dried blood and sweat. Luckily, Vincent had been courteous enough to allow him to use the bathroom (taking away that privilege would come later, and it was always the team's least favorite moment in the experiment).

The child's eyelids are low and threatening, but the older man doesn't falter. In fact, he sneers and mockingly stares down at the boy. He feels powerful.

"Let. Me. Fucking. Go."

Everyday, It says that. The voice was always the same, unwavering and stern. The only time it had ever cracked or revealed the true fear inside, was when Alpha has approached It with his gun in hand. Those bullets sure had done a number on the enhanced boy, and It was sure to stay clear of them. Better to be safe than sorry.

Sebastian, as always, ignores the boy's pleas and glances towards his work station.

The room itself was rather large, but the empty space was filled with cartons and barrels full of stale water bottles and a supply of bagels they had bought in bulk awhile back. They had been cheap, and they were food after all. Even the pickiest kids still ate them. Other boxes contained the electric rods, metal whips for behavioral correction, shackles, chains, medical supplies, anesthesia and other drugs.

Sebastian's desk, lowly and far to small for his work load, sat in the furthest corner from the stairs and the only exit. There say a single desktop computer and endless papers ranging from simply research articles, endless notes and thousands of papers labeled 'FAILED' over top in thick, red ink.

The hole sat in the middle, a prominent reminder of the horrible secrets that laid just beneath the floors.

Much like how they've disguised their lab with the innocent face of a bank.

Genius, really, thought Sebastian as he plopped down into the small hole. The small boy inside curled into himself, still glaring up at his offender, and tugged helplessly on the collar around his sore neck. The older man would have laughed at his fruitless attempts, had he not have the ability to sympathize.

It attempted to crawl away, and though It tried not to look pathetic, It ended up being the poster-child for the very word.

Sebastian leaned down and scooped the small body, which weighed much lighter than a month ago, and put it on the concrete floor next to the hole.

The first few times this had happened, It tried to run. It didn't get far, seeing as though the wound in his side was still gaping and fresh, and he was taught his lesson rather crudely. Being tasered by an hour and a half after having the shit beaten out of you was convincing enough.

It never ran again.

The larger male climbed out and picked the boy up again before making his way towards the stairs. The hallways that met them as the exited the basement was long and wasn't exposed to the public. The man wondered if It ever knew that freedom was simply a wall away.

They made it to their destination, a seemingly normal door that led to an absolute Hell.

The room was smaller than the basement, medical equipment lining the wall with a metal table dead-center, shackles for the wrists, ankles, thighs and neck lining the edges. The teen's breathing picked up at the sight as It wiggled weakly against his captor's broad chest.

"Stop."

The movement lessened, but didn't stop, but Sebastian was too exhausted to do anything about it.

Soon enough, It's body was laying prone on the cold surface, stripped form the suit and left in nothing but underwear. The shackles, made from vibranium (which was too expensive for it's worth), encased the young hero so all It could do was wither and buck against the metal. It grunted and pushed, but the shackles wouldn't budge.

Sebastian can feel "Peter Parker"'s fear. It's radiating off in waves, and for the briefest on moments, he considers ending it all now, letting the boy go and shooting himself dead. He ignores the urge when Declan- Alpha- walks into the room, watching with diligent eyes as he watches the younger man apply the wires to the boy's chest and forehead. Sebastian avoids eye contact with both his boss and his subject.

"Please! Please, please don't. I-I just want to go home. You don't have to do this! They'll find me! And when they do you'll all be dead- they will kill you. So, just let me go. Pl-Please. Just let me go- please."

The man gulps, stepping away from the boy and preparing the Electric Convulsive Therapy Machine. He watches as Alpha examines his work with a thoughtful gaze.

Suddenly, the large man stalks over to the prone body.

"What's your name?" The brute asks.

It stammers for a moment before gulping. "Peter Parker."

"Wrong," Alpha glares. "Echo."

Sebastian recognizes his cue and applies a small voltage. Clipboard ready in his hand, he observes the boy's reaction as he sends the current through.

“Wait- wait! Stop, I-“

The small body on the table convulsed violently, stalk still as It's back arches, mouth open in a deathly silent scream. Eyes sewn shut, It's hand clenches into a fist, fingernails digging into It's palms, drawing little rivulets of blood. It’s body quivers ever so slightly, indescribable pain clutching It with vigor. Though Sebastian doesn't miss it, he tries to ignore the look of pure joy on Declan's face as he watches the subject wither in pain. Sebastian scribbles on his clipboard feverishly in an attempt to drown out the horrors going on before his eyes.

' _First Trial: 20 volts of electricity._

_Reaction: Subject appears to be in pain, muscles convulse slightly to the point of self-injury. Breathing controlled following the volt. Breathing stops while volt is administered.'_

Alpha is talking once more, ragged voice echoing in the subject's ears.

"I will ask again: what is your name?"

The experiment gaps slightly before It's expression hardens once more. It will not easily break, which is different from their previous subjects.

"P-Peter Parker."

' _Slightly stuttered speech.'_

"Wrong!" Alpha's voice rings out in the small room, echoing around metal walls. Echo winces slightly, the rise in his boss' voice stirring up bad memories of his father. He moves towards the control board, moving the switch to up the voltage. "Echo!”

Electricity courses through It's body, and again, It begins withering in pain and convincing on the metal table. It’s reaction is similar to the one before. Tears stream down It’s flushed face, making the trembling subject look even younger.

Sebastian is quick to jot down his findings.

This continues for an hour before the subject is left to sob, nothing but wretched wails escaping his permanently gaping mouth, saliva dripping from his parched lips and mixing with the next onslaught of tears. Occasional muscle spasms overtake It, legs twitch uncontrollably for a short minutes before his eyelids begin to blink on their own accord. It's fingers trembled and flinch as his shoulders buck and slam back down, exciting even more tears to fall from his doe-eyes.

Blood pours from the crescent shapes on his palm, nails bed-deep in the soft flesh there as he flinches dreaming more blood to seep form his small wounds.

“Again!” Declan’s voice pierces through Echo’s ears, bring the world to utter silence.

Sebastian cannot read minds. Obviously, or he wouldn't be doing this as a job.

So, naturally, he doesn't know how much fear courses through the young boy, nor how badly the child wants to be home, snuggled beneath a mountain of blankets and being comforted by his father-figure and aunt. But when he looks down at the younger male, and they meet his eyes, he feels like he's staring into It's soul. He can see It's utter terror and fear as he shakes beneath the intense stare of two psychopaths. Echo looks away, unable to deal with the overwhelming weight on his chest. The guilt of it all.

"Every man is guilty of all the good he did not do," The scientist whispers to himself just low enough so the other to occupants don't hear. How could they, under the poignant sobs of a wailing child? "And you have done nothing, Sebastian, you absolute prick."

It looks at him, almost as if it heard what he had said, and musters the saddest eyes possible.

I'm sorry, the older man thinks, I cannot help you.

Declan clears his throat, gaining both male's attention before he frowns.

"I'll ask once more, you idiot. What. Is. Your. Name. What is it?"

The subject seems to lull over the question in It's head, cogs whirring in It's brain to think of the correct answer. Sebastian hopes that just this once, It holds down it's pride for it's own sake.

"I-I-I d-d-d-don't have-have a n-n-nam-me."

Alpha grins. "Correct. Echo, what was his highest?"

Sebastian gulps and looks down at his chart, an invisible grimace covering his lips as he stared at the number, eyes watering involuntary. He stammers for a moment, something he had never down before, before meeting his boss' eyes and gulping once more.

"11,000."

Declan's mouth stays grinning as he nods confidently. "That's miles higher than any of the others. I believe we've found our perfect candidate."

"Yes," Echo agreed doubtfully. He licks his lips nervously. "The only issue is his inability to produce natural webbing. He used a, uh, machine of some sorts. It isn't produced within him, like we had previously assumed."

The man looks down at his prize thoughtfully before unlatching one of boy's wrists nonchalantly. If It weren't so exhausted, It would have fought back, however the hand lays limp as the older man admired the wrist with calloused fingers. He runs a digit over the place where the webslingers used to be as he mulls over the situation. The patient looks away from the offender and meets Sebastian's eyes. The two stares at one another, having a silent conversation with their eyes.

Fuck you, I hate you. Why won't you help me?! Please, help me! I just want to go home. Just let me go.

I can't help you... I'm sorry. I'll get in trouble, or worse. There's no way out, kid. For either one of us.

You're selfish. You're a monster.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

That means nothing to me. Not if you aren't sorry enough to help me. You're to concerned with your own life to care about mine, let alone be 'sorry'. Fuck you.

The conversation ends as Sebastian looks away, back towards his clipboard.

"You can fix that though, correct?" The oldest man asks hopefully. Threateningly, really.

The boffin thinks over the procedure with diligent eyes as Alpha orders Charlie to do something from over a walkie-talkie of some sort. He looks at the sad, unwilling participant and ponder over the morality of the procedure. Of course, morals were thrown away years ago, but something about implanting internal glands, the thought of creating a whole new organ to connect protein to create a spider's silk seems wrong, unethical. But was it possible? Yes.

And if it were, he'd be forced to go through with it.

Sebastian often wonders how things like these will help the future generations, but decided not to question it in the end. Declan knew what he was doing. If he believed this would help, it would, and the researcher would stand by whatever decision he made. No matter what. After all, both his life and Vincent's were on the line here.

"Technically, I can," He answers carefully. "But it will be difficult seeing as though major arteries are found in the wrist and with surgery brings the risk of hi- It, bleeding out on the operating table. If we go through with this, I'll need time."

"Luckily, we have all the time in the world."

It's the sad truth, Sebastian realizes. If a group of highly trained assassins, super heroes, an actually god and a couple of geniuses hadn't found them already, they never would. So, in the end, the boy's pleas are fruitless and his 'tough-guy' act was just fuel to the fire. Declan liked to break things, like he had the brothers. Like he had all those thirty-four other children he had taken and eventually killed through whatever test was to daunting for their bodies. Many died from the electrocution, as their bodies were small and frail. Others died from starvation or dehydration, muscle deprivation and the body eating itself from the inside out. Some passed from drowning, or pneumonia following the water-boarding. A handful died during surgery, and Sebastian stilled hadn't perfected his technique and couldn't alter their DNA.

Only a small group died during reproduction. They had been the oldest of the lot, eighteen and seventeen. Their enhancements, which would undoubtedly be useful traits to have as a human being (more stamina, stronger immune systems, stronger bodies, faster legs), were to be passed on to the next generation. However, none of them made it. Usually the boy's died directly after the deed had been done, whether from exhaustion or malnutrition, the researcher was still trying to figure out.

The girls died either before or during childbirth, and the fetuses were usually gone before conception.

It was a sad way to die, but Sebastian never tried to stop it. For the good of science, he tells himself. People use animals during experiments, what was the difference with using humans?

Vincent was never fond of the situation, but was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Apart from being the "muscles" of the operation, he was replaceable and useless enough for Declan to kill with no regrets.

"What would you like me to do with him, Alpha?"

Declan, eyes steely and cold as he looks up at down the prone form on the table, relishing in the boyish tears that stream down his face like tiny rivers of devastation and hopelessness. Yes, he will have funny breaking this one. The strongest ones always fall the hardest. The man resisted the urge to grin from ear to ear- this was the one. A giddy feeling sprouted in his otherwise empty soul, a pleasant warmth settling over him as he looked upon his most promising volunteer. The next few months would be crucial. Breaking them in always made the process easier, made them more compliant and allowed for more tests to be conducted.

"Keep shocking It. It's disobedient, you can see it in those eyes. Once It's out, take It back down to recuperate and observe the healing capabilities. Then, bring It to test the lungs."

"Which-"

"Water."

"Yes sir."

Alpha backed as away from the table after clicking the young boy's wrists back to the table noisily. He smiles, mockingly and approaches the table at the last second to lean over the subject's face. His large hand comes to pat at the boy's cheek in mock affection.

"Be a _good boy_ for Echo, and maybe you'll get some food later."

With that, he stalks out, the haunting screams echoing through the small room as he shuts the door, a satisfied smirk dancing on his thin lips.

_Meanwhile..._

Tony Stark, the smooth, charming genius he was known to be, was anything but as he paced in front of the hologram in front of him. An array of security camera footage mocked him with their lack of evidence.

The man's hands came to clutch as his hair, squeezing the short locks between his fingers roughly before easing up. The process began again and don't stop until a familiar voice halted him in his frantic movements.

"We have absolutely nothing," Steve muttered dejectedly as he placed a nearly empty evidence file on to the conference table. "No footage, no witnesses, no suspects, no leads!"

Natasha leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful look in her bright eyes. "It's like he just disappeared off the face of the earth."

"Is SHEILD still withholding information?" Clint asked as he leaned into into his palm, his elbow resting on the table. This whole situation was eating at his heart, seeing as though he had children back at home and he knew how heartbroken he would be if they had disappeared like Peter had.

Tony groaned and fell back into his own seat, the wheels rolling back slightly under his weight.

"No- you want to know why? The only reason they aren't withholding information is because they have none! Their investigation was a bust! Even if they wanted to hold back on us, they have nothing," The billionaire mutters, leaning over the table to hold his heavy head in his hands.

The team had been looking nonstop for the passed month. That was evident by the dark, bruise-like eye bags on each member's face, even Steve's, who took pride in getting at least eight hours of sleep every night. However, they were met with her another block in the road as they found that the police had come up with nothing, the FBI was at a loss, SHEILD was practically useless and the team's own investigation was at a stand still. As of now, it was as if Peter hadn’t ever existed at all.

"We have to look at all the facts," Bruce said quietly, linking his fidgeting hands together on top of the table. "Well, not so much the facts rather than the possibilities. People don't just disappear. Maybe he-... he could have run away, he could be in another state, another country, even."

Tony glares at the good doctor. "Peter didn't run away. He make wouldn't do that, we all know that. I think we should span out our search to outside of the state. You're right on that bit- he maybe not be here anymore."

The truth was, no one even knew where to start. New York had been swept through with a fine-tooth comb and came back empty.

By the time we do find him, it might be too late, Tony thinks bitterly as he sighs into his hands.

They've been shaking ever since that night. It wasn't the cold, though an odd current had been coursing through him as of late. He had assumed it was a malfunction in the air handlers, but now he was just beginning to wonder if it was his mind playing tricks on him.

Thor had been unusually quiet, seeing as though one of their own was missing, and for that reason alone, Tony wanted to burst out into fitful sobs.

"So... what do we do now?" Natasha muttered that same stupid question that plagued them all.

Tony growled lowly.

He had never felt so hopeless before, so utterly disheartened. His arms ached to hold Peter, to coddle him and rock him and never let go. But though his fingers begged, his arms reached and his mind imagined; he still could not make his fantasy a reality. His boy was gone- missing. Vanished into thin air.

The genius had never felt more useless in his life.

The man stood suddenly, stumbling towards the head of the long conference table with just as much energy as two hours of sleep (in a week) could supply him. He stood as tall as he could, though inside he was shattering, and cleared his throat. Now, if he had been wearing his usual suit, he'd probably adjust his tie or wipe invisible dust from his jacket, but he didn't bother to compose himself in his tear-stain-ridden pajamas.

"We need a plan- a real one. We've just been running around willy-nilly for the past month and it's getting us no where. I-I... hate to admit it, but we need help from outside sources. Alright?"

"What are you suggesting, Tony?" Steve asked carefully.

"Do you know where Barnes is?"

At the mention of Bucky, everyone's spines straightened out, a few cleared their throats awkwardly and some found their laps particularly interesting. Steve gazed at his friend with wide eyes.

"Bucky? Of course, he-"

"Get him here, ASAP. I've already called Rhodey and he's more than willing to help. Pepper has decided that putting this out to the public is our best bet, we'll have more eyes. This whole state needs to be turned upside down before we branch out, you feel me?"

No one answers; no one can.

The sheer determination shuts them up as Tony’s large, brown eyes hide the overwhelming fear he feels behind a steely look. Crying in front of his team was not desirable at the moment. The fear became a tangible, sentient force that crept over him like a ravenous monster, immobilizing him in it’s clutches; holding him captive. His mind is reeling but, no. No, he is not afraid. He is not terrified. What he felt was far beyond such mere nouns. A demon stares Tony down from it’s hiding place, glaring on with red, blinding eyes. A beast he must slay if he ever wants to find Peter.

Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Do one thing every day that scares you.” The ex-playboy thinks Eleanor Roosevelt is a fucking idiot when he really thinks about it. There was only one thing he was scared of as of right now, and he’d be damned if he confronts it head-on.

Tony is scared shitless that he won’t find his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like seeing Peter in pain... that didn’t sound good but I mean, I won’t lie! Also, Sebastian is a whole pity-party, let’s be honest here. But, I have him a sad backstory to help drive his motivation, which make everything better, right? Right! Anyways, this chapter makes me happy because I think it gives a range of POV’s so we aren’t just getting Peter and Tony, y’know? But don’t worry, we’ll see our little heroes thoughts in the next two chapters! Promise! :) Thank you so much for all the support, everyone! Seeing your comments makes me ecstatic! 
> 
> Feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lots of love- Lara <3


	7. God-Given Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These strangers, though as familiar as they seem, should not, and cannot be trusted. Logically, Peter knows this. His whole life had been revolves around knowing who he could trust. But as new memories keep popping up, he can’t help but feel like maybe these “strangers” aren’t so bad after all.
> 
> Even big, bad, Natasha Romanova.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek! It’s been so long since I’ve updated! Sorry about that everyone, but I won’t make any excuses. Important author’s note here!!! Italics are past memories that Peter is getting as the scenes progress. Some sentences or things trigger them, as you’ll see. Just remember that!!!
> 
> Warnings:  
> -References to Torture  
> -Immoral Experimentation   
> -Description of Scars/Scar Tissue  
> -Dehumanization

_Seventeen months later..._

Peter liked the clothes.

Maybe it was the texture, the plush softness of the fabric as it nuzzled against his tender skin and flushed injuries. Or perhaps it was the fact that it covered him up, embracing him in a loose hug that separated his prone body to the horrors of the outside world. He liked the way he could still feel Tony's hands when they touched, but not the coarseness of his callouses or the warmth his large hands supplied. While the man's touched was always wanted, he often begged for it, pushing away the humiliation, he found that the barrier between his body and the foreign hands was nice.

It was safe, and even though he had deducted that Tony's touch wasn't dangerous, he still rather be cautious.

The sweatshirt he wore had an emblem on the front with wide letters spelling out MIT- “ _It used to be mine, kid, but it doesn’t fit me anymore now that I’ve started gaining... what do you kids call it? A dad-bod? Jesus Christ, I’m getting old,”_ \- which he later found out was the college he planned on going to after high school. Peter wondered if he'd ever go back to school if he possibly could. If he wanted to. It was warm and thick, with soft inner-linings and it smelled like Tony. One smell he couldn't quite decipher just yet, but the other could only be described as "warm".

Yes, he quite liked the sound of that.

Peter fondled mindlessly with a loose string on the ankle of his sweatpants, fingers cold and blue at the top. Tony agreed to turn up the heater but had yet to fulfill that promise. He averted his gaze, staring confused and rather intensely at his pale feet, one of which lacked his smaller toe.

It was a punishment he would not soon forget, along with the decapitation of his ring finger on his left hand.

Alpha had been particularly angry that day, raging about how slow their progress had been, claiming their biggest success was slowly turning into a monumental disaster. The older man had been glaring at the covered hole all day, metaphorical fumes spewing from his red-tinted ears. Peter could practically feel the anger rolling off him in waves as he curled into himself, gripping his collar tightly as he rocked and recited the periodic table.

It had been a stupid idea, really, to bite his captor, but an attempt as escape nonetheless. Alpha had wanted to shoot him for his insolence, but Echo had hurriedly reminded the man that another serious injury would kill the boy. Peter didn't miss the sideways glance the scientist sent him. So, instead, the ring leader settled on severing his lithe finger. The separation of his pinky toe came three months later when he had surprisingly broken away from his bonds despite his weakened strength.

There were people staring at him, hence why he had decided to stare at his crossed legs rather than in front of him.

The hospital cot was cold and squishy beneath him as he fought the urge to curl up and defend himself- _Peter laughed heartily as May stomped passed the gurney and towards the billionaire, nostrils flaring as she wailed about how irresponsible the man had been for letting her boy get hurt on patrol_. Tony was smiling at him from beside the bed in his usual chair, eyes bright and hopeful. The others, about six of them if he counted correctly, stood awkwardly around the bed, most fidgeting from the places.

Peter refused to look at them, or even Tony.

It had been a day since he had been bathed, and supposedly (Tony told him this, but he was still cautious to completely trust the man), he had been subdued while the doctors went over his injuries. The bandages that covered most of his body were evidence of this.

He hoped they didn't cover up the mark on his chest. It was a constant reminder that he was already owned by someone, and no one else could have him.

Tony's hand hovered over the teen's thin forearm before lightly latching on to it- warmth, clutching his skin, and warding off the frigid air drifting in from the snow outside on the balcony.

Peter meets his gaze, pursing his lips slightly into a pout that has the other man's heart-melting. The younger wants to crawl towards the man, to sit in his lap and let a hand filter through his longish hair. But the presence of these people is putting him on edge, so he flinches as Tony touches him. The older man immediately let's go, and he finds himself missing the touch.

"Peter," He says softly. "There are some of my friends here that if like you to meet, well, re-introduce, I guess."

"I know them?" Peter's voice comes out as soft as a whisper, reluctance heavy in the question. The so-called "friends" of Tony's looked dangerous, even in their casual attire. One was nothing but muscles and it reminded Peter of Alpha so he steered clear of even glancing at the man. Another one, a woman, had a dangerous gleam in her eye though he could tell she was trying to dial it down. She seemed to be fighting an internal battle. He wasn't too apprehensive about Dr. Banner, who had looked him over and fixed his wounds, mostly because he was a gentleman and proved to be kind-hearted. He hasn't meant the others yet, so the boy was quick to judge.

For his own safety, he fought down the guilt that ate at him for criticizing people he never remembered meeting.

Peter looks down at the stump of a finger and knows he deserved it.

"Yeah, kid. They're like a second family so you don't have to worry your pretty little head about anything. They're safe. Want me to introduce them to you, Pete?” Peter feels like he doesn't have a choice so he nods curtly but still avoids eye contact. His heart is beating wildly behind his ribcage, and he feared it might jump right on out, as juvenile as the thought was. "Well, big man over there is Thor. He's a cool guy, y' know, a whole Demi-god or something like that. And next to him is Natasha, but we just call her Nat even if she doesn't like it."

Peter's eyebrows furrow before he whispers numbly to the man.

"Why would you call her that if she doesn't like it? That's not her name."

He watches as 'Natasha' grins cheekily- _her smile never failed to cheer him up after a hard day at school, when Flash’s testing went too far or he somehow ended up humiliating himself_ \- and nutters how glad she was that 'the kid' was on her side. The boy's skin itches as the sound of her voice, familiar and yet so strange in his blushed ears. For a moment, he sits and waits for a memory to pop up, but alas, nothing happens. He also found out that though he had remembered Tony, bits and pieces still weren't adding up. It was as if he logically and physically knew the man, yet he couldn't remember much about them as a duo. Who they were or what they did. How much they loved each other. It was frustrating.

"It's just a joke, kiddo," Tony snickers after sending Natasha a teasing glare. "If she really cared that much, she'd have already snapped our necks during once of her little rage-filled temper tantrums."

"Temper tantrum?!" Natasha exclaimed, catching Peter off guard. He flinched, pulling into himself slightly, though he couldn't help the small smile that crawled it's way on to his lips as they bantered. "If anyone here acts like a toddler, it's you Stark. None of us forget the time you nearly broke Clint's record on Mario Cart until he-"

"Ah, ah, ah! We do not speak of that day! I thought we agreed on this, come on now. Clint was cheating, we all knew it, and he was being a spoiled little bastard!"

Peter watched as they argued back and forth, 'Thor's' boisterous laughter filling the normally silent room. It was a warm sound that made Peter's heart flutter and a pleasant feeling surge through his veins. He felt at home.

The man who Peter assumed was 'Clint' was smirking triumphantly, arms crossed over his broad chest.

Echo and Charlie often bantered like this, but when these people did it, it seemed more endearing than hostile.

Peter wishes he knew why.

"You all need to quiet down," Dr. Banner says quietly. The boy likes him most so far, seeing as though he had made the pain go away and seemed gentle enough. Out of everyone here, he seemed the least likely to punish him for being disobedient- “ _Would you like a lollipop, Peter? Gunshot wounds hurt and since you’ve been such a good patient, I think you deserve one. They’re sugar-free!”_ Well, he and Tony, at least. That man didn't seem to have a mean bone in his body, and at that thought, Peter smiled gingerly. "You're overstimulating him."

Tony hummed, as if he hadn't just started the argument, and nodded. "Bruce is right. I gathered you all here to introduce you, and you all turn it into a battle zone! Manners, manners, manners. Anyways, Petey, like I was saying, next to Nat is Clint, aka Katniss. He's a little hard to get used to but you'll learn to love him- or, you do love him, you just have to remember."

Tony seemed distressed. That boy fueled to the uneasy fire that ignited in Peter's chest. He wonders if a quick pat will help. If it will quell his pain.

Peter reaches over shyly, palm flat and shaking, and puts his hand over the older man's spiked hair. Tony flinches briefly before smiling in thanks, and that's enough validation the boy needed before he brought his hand up and down in a soothing motion. Like how one might pry a dog. Tony, however, didn't seem to mind one bit as he merely grinned and let the kid do as he pleased. A minute passed in absolute silence, which Peter was both used to and grateful for, before he pulled away, satisfied that he had helped the man the same way the hands aided him. He made a mental note to do that more often, it seemed as though everyone enjoyed it.

Was that a thing people did? He questioned himself silently.

I'll just have to find out, he decided on, feeling quite giddy.

"Thanks, kid. I feel better already. Now, as I was saying, you already know Bruce: the nicest guy from New York to LA-"

"LA?" Peter whispered.

"Yeah, kiddo. LA? Las Angeles," A brief flash of... something, flashed in the genius' eyes. Something Peter couldn't detect. "It doesn't matter. Don't worry about it, okay?"

"Okay, sir."

Tony grumbled something, adjusting himself in his seat briefly before settling once more. "He might offer you tea- whatever you do, don't take it. It tastes like absolute shit- I mean dirt. Now if Stevey-boy over here, or Steve- if you want to be boring- offers you something, you take it. He's a good cook for some reason. Great apple pies, to die for, really."

Who would die for food? Peter searches his brain for any desire to off himself for merely something to eat and notices that there isn't one. Maybe he was just different. But, he supposes whatever this 'pie' was that Steve made was something he was willing to try. Especially if he should be willing to die over it.

A hollow, empty feeling settled in his gut as his mind wavered.

_May placed a steaming bowl in front of him, a mixture of harsh reds and a middle of brownish-green. He smiled sheepishly, but it came out more like a grimace. The older woman sighed and slumped in her seat, plugging her nostrils at the putrid smell of her homemade dish._

_“Thai?” She muttered with a dry laugh._

_“Yeah,” Peter sighed, though the smile_ _didn’t waver. “It’s okay, May, you’re getting better. Honest!”_

_May hummer and kissed the boy on his forehead. “You’re too good for me, Petey-Pie.”_

The people in front of him, all broad-shouldered and strong (apart from Bruce, who looked rather round). He could be easily apprehended by any of them, meaning obedience was key if he wanted to survive. The Outside was no different from the hole, and the same rules still applied: don't struggle against the hands, don't speak unless spoken to, don't run unless specified to in a test, don't speak directly to Alpha, don't spit, walk to the rhythm of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star down A hall and The Teddy Bear Picnic down B hall. The last two rules were always the hardest to follow, especially after a test when his kids were plagued with pain and confusion. But he knew the punishment following his inability to walk to the nursery rhymes. The long, thin scars across his back were evident in his insolence.

Peter wondered when he'd get to see his keepers again. When Alpha would come back to take him away from these kind people.

After all, he was Alpha's property.

The boy shakily rose his hand to his chest, tracing over the ragged And shape that branded his ashen skin. The scar was raw and haggard, skin peeling around the edges, shriveled and burnt despite the doctor's best efforts to remove the aftermath. Fingering the light scar through the clothes, he reminded himself that the strangers' kindness would not last long.

" _Trust no one," Charlie whispers to him one night as Peter cries silently into the older man's palm. "Not your family, not your friends. They'll always hurt you... I'm sorry."_

_Peter's head is an explosion of fragmented thoughts and memories. He stifles his sobs. He doesn't know who his family is, how can he even begin to trust them?_

_"I-I don't under-understand."_

" _You never will. You'll spend the rest of your life here and I'm sorry. I can't help you get out, Echo would kill me and Alpha would kill Echo."_

_"Out? Out? There's an out? Where out?"_

He never did get his answer.

Peter trusted Charlie, even though he technically was the man who told him to protect himself- to keep his guard up around even the most (seemingly) trustworthy people. People like Tony Stark, who he only half remembers.

What songs will I walk to in these halls? Peter thinks to himself as he graves over the etching in his chest. How will I know which hall is which?

"I know everyone, now," Peter whispers with a small smile. He nods to himself. He knew his captors now, which put him a step closer to avoiding punishment at all costs. There were two categories, really, when it came to who owned him. One deemed the dangerous ones and the others were safe, or at least as close to 'safe' as he could get. Alpha stood proud and obnoxiously in the center of the dangerous category, while Charlie sat mellowed on the safe side. Echo was still being categorized, as while he had proven he was capable of hurting the boy, he avoided it as much as he could. Only on rare occasions was he severely punished. Anything else was just a spark of electricity to startle him. "Now, rules, right? Tony you know the rules, you have to know."

"Rules..."

Tony's gaze drifted towards his team, he looked sword standing in silence, twiddling their thumbs idly. He smacked his lips in thought before nodding absentmindedly. Maybe playing unto the delusion for a while longer would do the kid some good- the transition wouldn't be so drastic. So painful.

"Everyone has rules. You need rules. I-I mean if you want them, of course! It's your choice, Tony, not mine! I don't have an opinion, I promise, I'll be quiet from now on."

"No, no. There are no rules here, Peter. You're free to do pretty much anything you want. As long as you aren't hurting yourself or someone else, I don't really care what you do."

That couldn't possibly be true. 

If there were no rules, how would prepare himself for punishment? How would he avoid punishment? Was there even a way to do so, or were his new captors excited to see him hurt? Would they run the same tests as Echo did, or would they stand in the corner and laugh as he withered in pain like Alpha? Maybe they'd be like Charlie, resigned and kind in a strange way that came out in a boisterous, outgoing style. Tony had already shown the characteristics of Charlie, and he was hoping the newcomers shared such.

“But how will you know when to punish me if there are no rules?”

Questions. Questions are bad, and deep down he knows he should refrain from asking them unless he wanted to get hurt. His brain couldn't help it- his tongue couldn’t hold them. The weight of the burden was too heavy to hold on the thin muscle for too long. Besides, he had been guilty of asking questions with his old handlers as he well, but Alpha was quick to put him down after he became too repetitive. To annoying.

Peter also knows nothing to second guess. He knows talking is bad. Don’t question it, he chastised himself, no matter how nice they seem, don’t break the rules.

Natasha, the woman with short, flaming red hair, slighted her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

It had been a long while since Peter had seen this particular woman, and though he feels like his reaction to seeing her should be more flamboyant and jubilant, he can’t bring himself to that conclusion. The boy doesn’t know her. Natasha’s face, which is small but hard, looks familiar, but only vaguely. Another woman’s face is more prominent than her’s. May’s. The teen wilts some at the thought of his aunt, who had left him in his absence (which gave him hope that their truly was something before the darkened abyss of the hole).

Natasha will be like May, Peter assures himself but remains wary.

“You won’t be punished.”

She says so with vigor, no room for question or argument, though Peter so badly wants to disagree. Punishments were good. It meant he was learning. It meant everything was going to plan.

For the betterment of society, Alpha’s voice reminds him softly.

“Why?”

Stop with the questions! Peter screams internally, his eyes twitching until they closed completely, short- _his eyelashes were long and fluttered gently as he closed them, Aunt May leaning over his face as she shushed him to sleep-_ eyelashes. They had used to be full and more akin to a girl’s, though he didn’t necessarily mind that, they had mostly fallen out due to his incessant picking and the malnutrition. He does remember, however, how the fire he had sat in during one of his Wednesday tests, he burned some off.

“Because you don’t deserve to be punished,” She says rather passionately. “You’re just a boy. A detka. No rebenok pauk of mine will be punished for stupid and trivial things. Don’t worry about any of that.”

“Ty znayesh' russkiy?” Peter smiles slightly, his heart swelling.

“Da. Ty tozhe, vidimo. Ty ran'she prosil menya pomoch' tebe uchit'sya, ty pomnish'? Ty, kazhetsya, beglo govorish', da?”

“Ya ne pomnyu Mne zhal'. Al'fa inogda govorila s Ekho i Charli po-russki, i ya ponyal eto. Ya mnogo razgovarivayu? Ty uveren, chto ne nakazhesh' menya?” Peter’s smile fell, and he could practically feel Natasha’s anger radiating off her in waves. He hardly even recognized Tony’s confused and startled expression, or the other’s curious or even freight ended gestures. Clint muttered something softly into the assassin’s ear and she approached the bed, sitting on the opposite side of Tony.

The boy tried to hide his flinch. He really did, but the feminine hand that rose toward his face still caused him to tremble slightly as he winced. It wasn’t until her hand settled on the crown of his head that he relaxed and let her pet down his hair. Her hand, like Tony’s, was different from the hands that cake to him in the hole. They were softer, more slender, but still housed their own callouses. Judging by the bulge in the woman’s pocket, the young teen determined she carried a weapon around at all times. Peter’s eyes didn’t travel from the assumed dagger or her free hand, waiting to see which would move first in case she attacked.

“Nikogda,” She whispered as she pulled his smaller body against her chest tightly, rubbing her hand down his back while the other continued to pat his head. “Tebe dorogo obidet', malen'kiy pauk.”

Peter freezes.

“ _Be careful out there, malen'kiy pauk. Don’t get into any trouble or I’ll ground you for the next month,” Natasha grinned mischievously, which was rare, and tackled the younger hero to the ground of ten training room’s padded surfaces. The boy struggled beneath her, withering as she pressed her knee into his back. “Promise me?”_

_“Ah! Mercy! Mercy! I give!” The boy wailed as he tried to hold back his true strength, which he promised not to use for the wrestling match._

“ _Ah, ah, ah,” The widow tutted. “Promise me, and I’ll let you go.”_

_“I promise! Oh, I promise to be safe! I swear it!”_

_“Goodman,” She released him and relished in her victory as he huffed and puffed, chest heaving as she grinned from above. “New York needs its local hero safe, do don’t go getting yourself shot.”_

“ _I promise,” He panted breathlessly. “I promise.”_

Hero, he whispers to himself in his head. Were they referring to his contribution to society? The experiments? The boy’s eyes drifted to the pin-prick dots on his wrists, knowing shamefully what would happen if he pressed the trigger. The white, stringy ooze that would shoot from beneath his skin and stick to whichever object he had chosen.

Like a spider.

What a fitting nickname, he think bemused. He traces the trigger spot lightly, careful not to activate the webs. The boy rather not stares at the scars running along his wrists from the surgery, as they were ugly, pink, and raised. Just like the rest of the scars littering his battered body.

Maybe that’s why he liked clothes so much. They covered all the ugly parts of him from the world.

“Spasibo tebe, mama.”

The afternoon is spent with quiet conversation that Peter doesn’t listen to. He goes back and forth between Tony’s arms and Natasha’s, though he wishes to gravitate towards the others as well, as his gut offers a warm and buttery feeling whenever they got closer to him. He bet they all gave amazing hugs. But he was smarter than to trust too easily, so he kept his distance from everyone but the woman, who he knew wouldn’t hurt him, and Tony, who seemed safe enough.

Bruce was to adverse to touch to crawl to anyways, but Peter respected that as much as he understood what “personal space” meant.

When they left, Peter felt the price of his leave with them, leaving an empty and dark gap in its wake. The warmth was gone, making his body shiver in the cold. However, he could that he wasn’t alone for long as the door created open in the midst of another sleepless night.

The boy closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep as gentle footsteps made their way around the bed.

They stopped by his head, a large hand threading through his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp as he leaned into the touch. A sigh escapes the intruder's mouth, before his lips connected to the bare skin of Peter’s cheek.

A voice spoke then, and Peter found himself being cradled again a warm body rather than the unforgiving cot.

The tears that trailed down Tony's face were angry and horribly fat as he sputtered into Peter's long hair. He choked on every breath, nose undoubtedly staining the boy's scalp with snot, not that the younger minded much. He rocked the child back and forth in his lap, arms shaking around the still form. Peter cannot, for the life of him, figure out what he had done to make Tony so upset. The boy had just been sleeping for God’s sake! He only hopes that whatever he had done doesn't result in the loss of another finger or toe. Or another lashing.

"You, Peter, are my God-given solace."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Peter’s conversation from Russian to English:  
> “You know Russian?”  
> “Yes. And so do you, apparently. You asked me to help you study before, do you remember? You seem to be fluent, right?”  
> “I don’t remember. I’m sorry. Alpha used to speak Russian to Echo and Charlie occasionally and I picked up on it. Am I talking to much? Are you sure you won’t punish me?”  
> “Never. You are too precious to ever hurt, little spider.”  
> “Thank you, ma’am.”
> 
> Wow! This chapter was crazy to write, haha! I love how it turned out too, so I hope you all like it. Translating from Russian to English and vise versa took so long, but I’m glad I did it. I think it really ties together Nat and Peter’s relationship. Don’t worry, each member will get their own time and connection with Peter. I’m hoping the next few chapters will help move the story along, as it’s going quite slow as of now. Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed! Thank you so much for all the support!
> 
> Feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lots of love- Lara <3


	8. An Eye for an Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge is a bittersweet thing. Peter learns that there is much more to the saying, “an eye for an eye” than he thought. In the end, getting that title taste of freedom was not worth his pinky finger, and it certainly was never worth the pain that came afterwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been so long! I’m sorry for the wait, everybody! I’m hoping to update quicker from now on but I can’t promise anything. I’m sorry. Please heed the warnings for this chapter as it gets rather gory! Happy reading :)
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Explicit Torture  
> -Explicit Gore  
> -Implied/Referenced Drugging

_Sixteen Months Earlier..._

Echo has a slight limp in his walk, Peter observed as he stumbled through the long corridor. He hummed to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star in his head so he wouldn't forget the rhythm. Though, there were bound to be mistakes as his mind hadn't stopped spinning since last night, when he was forced to run non-stop for over seven hours.

Even with his powers, he couldn't keep his legs from collapsing as weeks of malnutrition and dehydration took over him, dragging him down to an exhausted heap on the treadmill.

The skid marks and burn scabs along his legs still stung, and they had been healing much slower than they would have had he been healthy.

Peter closed his eyes for a brief moment, the blinding lights burning his eyes.

A mistake he would regret even months after.

Feeling his feet begin to stumble beneath his weight, his eyes flung open only to reveal the ground steadily approaching his face.

It's cliche really.

The world moved in slow motion as he stumbled to the ground, his nose making impact with the hard concrete floors, cracking under the pressure. His eyes, scrunched tightly, remained closed even after he had fallen completely, though not in pain. Peter couldn’t believe how utterly stupid he had been. It was almost as if he were asking to be punished at this point with how often he had been messing up recently. The boy was beginning to forget just why everyone used to think of him as some type of genius, because as of now, he felt as though his IQ had been sliced in half.

It was quiet, and Peter was having an odd little vision of the wall suddenly breaking down and Tony standing in the hole, repulsers aimed and ready to fire. Wishful thinking, really.

He was terrified. Peter actually hadn't stoped being terrified for who knows how long at this point. He had been keeping tally in the hole, but he had forgotten just how long it had truly been with no really concept of time.

To quell his aching heart and the utter helplessness in his soul, however, he created a routine of sorts. None of the times were accurate, and he wasn't quite sure if the activities even took place on the same day, but thinking about it gave him a sense of stability. Something to think about other than the pain or the loneliness.

_8:00 A.M.- Be woken up by Charlie with the stick._

_8:30 A.M.- Given breakfast of cinnamon bagels and water (drugged)._

_9:00 A.M.- First test of the day, usually stamina, endurance, or strength testing._

The middle of the day always went by in a blur. The tests, while similar, always different than the morning testing, which was why his schedule had only helped him a little in keeping him sane. It was only later on that night that he felt comfort in sensing a routine.

_10:00 P.M.- Dinner, cinnamon bagels and water (drugged)._

_10:30 P.M.- Listen to Echo and Charlie speak with Alpha (topics differ every day)._

_11:00 P.M.- Alpha hurts him with the stick until he passes out from exhaustion and pain._

And the cycle begins anew.

His routine had been falling apart as of lately as his feeding times had been reduced and he found himself going days without food. Water was scarce, but he was always given the liquid more than the food seeing as though he couldn't survive long without it.

Everyday, Peter could himself growing weaker. He ran slower on the treadmill, and his time rose significantly. He couldn't hold his breath as long underwater. He passed out sooner under the electrical currents. The fire burnt his skin deeper and left his lungs so black, he'd needed help breathing more often.

The worst of all, was the act that he was breaking quicker.

At the beginning of it all, he held his ground. He wouldn't cry or scream in front of his captors. He'd fight back or spit on them in retaliation. It was a liberating feeling- watching the people who torture him grow angry at his words. It was empowering.

Now, he found himself pleading. Begging for them to stop. Crying out to them and seeking their touch just to feel something positive.

Peter grew fonder of Charlie, the man who would sit by his little cave and pet the top of his head, combing down his greasy hair and rubbing against his sore scalp. It was nothing like being held by Tony, but sometimes, if Peter closed his eyes, he imagined it was the genius comforting him. Telling him everything would be okay.

Deep down, the boy has a hunch that that simply isn't true.

The world was growing dim as the spark of hope was slowly flickering into darkness in his chest. His heart, which had been so sure that he would be found, was beginning to doubt that the young hero would ever find a way out.

Peter was just waiting for the day that he was no longer useful.

Wishing he'd be put out of his misery, or allowed to go home.

" _Home sweet home, kid!" Tony opened the bedroom door with wide, extravagant arms. Waltzing in with a swerve of his hips as he smirked. Peter followed like a puppy behind him, doe-eyes wife and mouth nearly touching the floor. "So, you like it?"_

_"Like it?!" Peter exclaimed, a wild grin plastered on his shy features. "I love it!"_

_The teen couldn't believe it. His own room... in the Avenger's tower! Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined something his crazy to happen (that was certainly a lie, he had dreamed of such things happening, thought he would never admit it). Peter was sure the man had ransacked his own room back at Aunt May's, for the same posters covered the walls- and then some- as well as pristine, limited addition action figures and comic books all lined up on a tall book shelf. Taller than the boy's arm span, which Tony thought would be a rather funny situation need Peter want a comic from the top shelf. Comical, even._

" _I knew you would, kid. I have it all decked out, too. Comics are in alphabetical order, just the way you like them, but I have no doubt in my mind that the next time I come in here, they'll be all over the floor. Mini fridge in the corner stalked with the disgusting tea crap you like. Mocha?"_

_"Matcha, Mr. Stark. And it isn't disgusting!"_

" _Kid, it tastes like frickin' dirt. Anyways, the snack drawer is under your bed and I know how much you like those cherry pie cups from that bakery on 21st street, so I got you some of those."_

_Peter was beaming. Never in his life had someone done something so incredibly kind for him. On their own free will too!_

_"This is amazing, Mr. Stark. Thank you so much!"_

_Tony's smirk falls into a gentle smile. "Anything for you kid."_

Anything for you. Find me, Peter begs. Find me and never let me go again. That's all I want.

He can feel Echo's eyes boring into his back, his fiery gaze burning his tattered skin. Peter wills himself not to cry at what he was about to receive as punishment, knowing his back couldn't handle another lashing with how ripped up and deep the cuts from the last session were. The last thing he needed was to add insult to injury and lessen his chance of survival. Just the thought of getting an injection brought sweet to his brow.

A hand is on his back, pushing down and squeezing blood from his recently closed wounds.

Searing hot pain ran up his spine, his nerves on fire as Echo pushed his palm into the massacre that was his back. Peter, using all the energy he could muster, flipped himself over as adrenaline suddenly rushed through his veins, surging him to move.

 _Get out_ , a voice told him. _This is your chance._

Peter's eyes locked on to the stunned hand hovering over his body, unprepared for his victim's sudden movement and unsure of what to do now. The boy threw himself forward, pushing from his weakening arms and latching on to the offending hand by his teeth, squeezing until he heard the satisfying crunch of bones breaking beneath him.

Echo let out a howl, trying to wretch his hand away from the ravenous boy who looked more like a wounded animal than anything else.

It was fruitless, however, as Peter's mouth clamped shut completely over the fingers, biting down continuously until he tasted a coppery, red substance fill his mouth. Then, he kept his jaw still as Echo tried to rip away, shredding the skin from his fingers and cashing more blood to ooze from his newly injured hand.

It was over before it even began.

Peter was shoved away roughly, hitting his head on the wall with a thump that made his vision swim. His ears echoed with Echo's pain-filled pants and groans, his curses making a small smirk rise to Peter's cracked lips. Revenge is sweet, he thought proudly as he licked the blood from his lips before spitting it out crudely. His hand shook as he came down from his high, the energy that he had once had depleting completely.

Get away, the voice told himself. They're distracted! Find a way out!

"Shit..." Peter cursed as he struggled to sit up, the world tilting on its axis as a dizzy spell took over him. A concussion for sure. It didn't matter much as he pushed himself weakly to his feet, legs shaking like a newborn fawn's as he panted. Vaguely, he could see Charlie huddled over Echo's concave form, whispering something softly to the younger man. "Shit, shit, shit."

Peter grasped the wall haphazardly, looking for purchase. When he found none, he simply limped away from his captor's, using the blank wall to steady himself.

Where was he going, exactly?

Well, he what quite sure yet. All he knew was that two stronger, healthier and dangerous men were hot on his trail and if he didn't find a way out soon, he may be paying a price he couldn't afford to pay later on.

Keep going, he told himself, visions of his family waiting at home for his return flashing in the forefront of his mind.

He couldn't give up now.

There was a door in front of him, different from all the others. It was at the far end of the corridor, passed the usual corner they turned down to the testing rooms. He had longed to see what was behind it since the first day he had laid eyes on it.

His young eyes, just as curious as they were when he was a toddler, had been itching to open it. Now was his chance.

When his hand made contact with the metal nob, the feeling of freedom crawled up his fingertips, urging him froward. Peter felt tears prick his eyes as he turn the round knob, pushing the door open with eager eyes and unsteady legs. He looked up, a small grin forming on his hopeful face, eyes sparkling beneath the fluorescent lighting.

It was night.

It was night and that was all that mattered. It was night and he thought it was the morning, but he could see just outside the window that the moon was in the middle of the deep, dark night sky surrounded by twinkling stars. The street was barren aside from the occasional car that drove by in haste, completely disregarding the small building.

The bank. They were in the bank.

Peter's mind raced as his eyes surveyed the area, his shoeless feet stumbled forward to find his way around the long desk, fingers twitching restlessly at his side. His lungs felt just about ready to give out on him, though he continued forward as if he wasn't panting like a dog in the summer.

_1\. It's night_

_2\. We're in the bank._

_3\. Footsteps can be heard behind me._

_4\. I don't have long before I'm caught, I need to move fast._

It was painfully true. Echo and Charlie's rushed footsteps were gaining on him, their rough voices echoing down the hall as they ran through the doorway.

There was something so painful about hope.

He was so falsely presumptuous, so tremulous and eager, that he failed to acknowledge how much hope had let him down. He could no longer rely on anticipating his rescue, not with Charlie's arms wrapping around his middle as he let out an anguished sob, eyes locked the front door. He was being irrational anyways, to even think that he would be able to escape. So desperate.

Peter felt empty as he was dragged back behind the large door, watching with a forlorn expression as it closed heavily, looking him in.

His vacant eyes were unseeing as he was thrown into the testing chambers, the room unusually void.

"You think your tough?" Charlie's voice was oddly angry. The usually level-headed man's eyes brows were furrowed, face red and Peter thought that smoke may start coming out of his ears. "You think you can just waltz out of here like some hotshot after biting the shit out of my brother? I'll tell you right now that shit just shows how much of a coward you are! You're a fucking pathetic bitch! A dog, that's what you are. Nothing but a worthless, weak dog. I should kill you right now, you bastard. Worthless piece of shit!"

The kick was unexpected. Peter flinched hack as the foot-clad foot came hurdling towards his face, smashing his already broken nose deeper into his face. Breathing was beginning to prove impossible.

The beating that followed was different from the previous ones.

The others were hesitant, purposeful and careful. They always avoided specific areas such as the head or stomach. All the other bearings were simply punishment, or rather, more tests to see just how well his healing ability would work under such large amount of stress.

This one was rage-filled and anguished.

Charlie showed no mercy, beating on the small heap of a sobbing boy, breaking the bones in his fingers with a sickening crunch before knocking the wind out of him.

"I-I'm sor,.. I'm so-o-sor-..."

"You're sorry? Sorry?! I'll show you sorry! Just a fucking pillock. A bastard child, aren't you? Mommy and daddy died and you have the fucking audacity to act like you're running the show. Bet your uncle was happy he finally got to die after living with you, ungrateful shit. Probably hates your guts! Probably wanted you _dead_!"

Peter wasn't sure how he knew about his parents or his uncle's demise, but he couldn't find himself care just then.

He was to preoccupied in protecting the softness of his stomach, which was already sporting a horrible bruise. The boy was nearly sure he was suffering from internal bleeding somewhere, and he knew if he didn't get it fixed, he'd die. The last thing he wanted was to die without seeing Tony one last time. He wanted one last hug...

"Leave him alone, Charlie. It's not worth getting in trouble with Alpha. Just punish him and keep moving. We'll be late."

Thank the lord for Echo.

With a final kick to the ribs, Charlie straightened himself out, brushing off his clothes and clearing his throat. "Little shit. Give me your hand."

Peter could do nothing but comply in fear of getting another beating for his disobedience.

"Pl-Please, don't..."

"Don't what, pretty boy? You brought this on yourself. Sit there and take it like a man and quit your crying. It's embarrassing."

The boy can't control himself from yelling out when he sees Charlie pull a Swiss army knife form his back pocket, pulling out the serrated blade with an unintelligent grumble. Peter risked a glance to Echo, who was watching on with glassy eyes, his broken hand trembling against his chest. The young hero felt his heart swell at the sight.

"I-I..."

Charlie looked indifferent as he pried one of Peter's fingers, his pinky, from it's circled position against his palm. His eyes were void of emotion as he placed the edge of the knife at the hilt of the finger, edges biting into pale skin. The boy screamed out in surprised and utter agony as Charlie is pushed down, dragging the serrated edges down and across. Through skin, fat and bone, the man sluggishly and slowly hacked through the appendage, dragging out the pain. Peter cried into the floor, sobbing lowly as Charlie dragged the knife back and forth. A pool of blood lingered in the place of his finger, leaking from the stump and running like a small stream towards his face.

The bloody appendage glared daggers at him from the stained place on the floor.

Gone. As if it were never there to begin with.

"There. It's what you deserve, you bastard. If you fucking lay a hand on either one of us ever again or open that fucking door, I'll cut off more than your little finger. I'm not opposed to lobbing off a leg or arm. Shit, I'll rip your dick off and shove it down your throat if you even _think_ of escaping. Got that?"

"Y-Y-Yes! Yes, oh god, yes."

Something broke that day. Whether it be his determination, his heart or his will, he was never quite sure. All he knew was after than, he stopped thinking about what laid behind that door. He stopped counting the days and forgot about his routine, a sick feeling in his stomach after realizing he had been wrong the whole time.

Peter stopped eating, simply picking the outer skin of the bagels and throwing them into a small pile in the corner of his hole. He drank, but only because whatever they had spiked the drink with number the pain that radiating across his body.

He never stopped humming the nursery rhymes. Even if they weren't walking, he felt obligated to remember them perfectly.

That night, or morning Peter supposed, Charlie day at the edge of the hole and brushed his large hand through Peter's curls. Lazily, he curled the hair around his finger before letting it flop away, bouncing limply among the greasy, stringy hair. His fingernails scratched circles along his scalp and Peter felt no shame in leaning his aching head against the older man's legs, embracing the warmth they provided.

"I'm sorry," He whispered into the silence and Peter heard a halt in shuffling papers from Echo's desk. "I shouldn't have hurt you so badly. I was just angry."

"Charlie," Echo sighed from his desk, eyes weary and tired. "Stop talking to it, I-... you know what?"

"What?"

"I cant even bring myself to care anymore."

Peter smiled at that. Maybe it wasn't just him that broke that day. Charlie snapped, Echo let the helplessness take over and Peter took pride in excepting any affection he was given.

Charlie turned his attention back to the boy, hand carding softly through the chestnut locks.

"I shouldn't have done that to your finger, I should have just-... I mean, the beating was enough. You leaned your lesson, right?"

"Y-Yes. I-I-I'm sor-sorry."

Charlie smiled then, his dimples high upon his cheeks.

"Of course you are. You're just a kid and kids are always sorry."

_Later that day..._

Steve felt out of place in the building. He could feel stranger's eyes on him, judging him, as morning him from afar. The bank-teller looked nervous as he stammered to call him to his booth. The hero wrung his hands together, feeling rather uncomfortable as people gawked at him.

This was why he hated going out in public alone. People simply seemed content with staring him down with no shame, and quite honestly, it nearly made him feel a bit dirty. His eyes drifted to a woman waiting behind him in line as she stared at his lower half, mouth a gap and eyes wide. He sudden felt like exposed. Looking down at himself, Steve frowned. He knew he should have taken Clint up on that offer to come with.

The man at the desk was sweating profusely, hands shaking softly but Steve wrote it off as being nervous about meeting the one and only Captain American.

"Uh, h-hello, Mr. Rodgers. Please, take a seat," Steve did so gingerly. "So, uh, what can I do for you today?"

"I’s like to open a, uhm, savings account if that’s possible? Is that what it's called?"

"Yes, so to get started-..."

"May I ask what happened to your hand?"

The man froze from typing at his computer. Steve eyed the thick bandage wrapped around the bank-teller's fingers and the top of his palm. It looked recently changed, a pristine white.

"Oh, my neighbor's dog. A feisty little thing, hah."

"What was your name again?"

The man's fake smile fell as he looked frantically towards the front desk, the man there meeting his eyes for a brief moment.

“Uh, Sebastian. Sebastian Davis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School starts back up again in a week, but luckily, I’m doing online school so writing should be a problem. Soccer had also started back up so I’ve been rather busy, but that’s no excuse. I might have some one shots to post in between chapters so stayed tuned for those. Other than that, this chapter was rather hard to write because of the gore, haha! ;) My fingers hurt now, lol. Also, I can totally see Peter as liking “trendy” drinks like Matcha, haha! Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I did writing it! I love you all!!!
> 
> Feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lots of love- Lara <3


	9. The Gun at My Ankle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony thinks that maybe he’s slowly losing his mind. Because certainly no normal person can get joy from seeing a man squirm, his face inches away from a loaded gun. No, no average person would smile at such a sight. 
> 
> But a grieving parent... perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry that this update didn’t come sooner! I’ve missed writing for this story but I had to take a break for awhile. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Implied Rape (not of main character)   
> -Referenced Guns  
> -Referenced Experimentation  
> -Referenced stillborn/infant death

_Sixteen months later..._

"So," Tony waltzed around the small table, the pad of his finger running gently over the metal exterior. His back was rigid, face emotionless and strides calm as he circled the small surface. Though he tried his best to hold back his obvious disdain for the men sitting at said table, he couldn't help but allow a cold sneer to rise to his lips in disgust. "Sebastian Davis and his brother, Vincent Davis. One with an IQ of 178 and the other with the IQ of a doorknob. All I see is two scumbags."

It was silent for a moment, neither man daring to open their mouths in fear of being socked in the jaw for the third time that night. Who knew Tony Stark had such a mean upper cut?

Sebastian twiddled his thumbs under the table, wondering with labored breath, just where and when they went wrong. The group had been doing it for years and never once had anyone caught on to what they had been doing. The bank was a good coverup, he supposed, and nearly smirked to himself for coming up with the idea. However, he bit his tongue and zipped his lips into a straight line in fear of angering the man anymore. The scientist looked calm on the outside, aside from the thin sheen of sweat rolling down his forehead. On the inside, however, he was going haywire. Where had Declan ran off to? Was he being held for interrogation as well?

Nothing was quite making much sense, and Sebastian could sense that his brother was feeling it too.

Vincent looked downright wrecked beneath the bright orange light, his lips quivering and eyes expressive. He had always been the more emotional brother, Sebastian supposed with a silent sigh. The slightly older male gulped audibly. With an unnoticeable roll of his eyes, the scientist wondered why they even bothered holding an interrogation at all. All they needed to do was take a quick look of his bird-brain brother and know they were plain guilty. Nothing else mattered now. They had been caught, their experiment had been ruined and worst of all, they'd undoubtedly be put to death for kidnapping and experimenting on New York's very own Spider-Man.

This was a shitty idea, Sebastian chastised himself.

He should have killed himself in middle school, when his peers told him too.

"What?" Stark bellowed, slamming his palms against the metal table with a glower. "Cat got your tongue, assholes? What do you have to say for yourselves? There isn't much, I'll tell you that. I'll rip you apart limb by limb if they don't zap you ten-ways to Sunday until you're dead as a doorknob. Understand me? So, fess up and we can get this whole thing over with quicker and I can watch your asses burn."

Sebastian swallowed his spit, his mouth feeling dry all of the sudden. "Wh-Where's Declan?"

"Declan?" Tony's eyes widened as he turned feverishly towards the one-way mirror. "Who the hell is Declan?"

A feeling of mischief ran through his veins, his handcuffed hands coming to settle on top of the table instead of fiddling under it. He clasped them together, ignoring how clammy and shaky they felt. If there was no getting out of this... he'd at least have some fun first.

"You mean you don't know about the Declan Watson? Well, he's practically the most world-renowned-... hold on. Why the hell should I tell you?"

Tony looked absolutely livid and Sebastian couldn’t help but smirk cunningly.

Vincent glanced over at his brother, eyes wide and unsure at the sudden turn of events. He had been so sure they'd be put to death almost immediately, that he hadn't bothered opening his big mouth. Nows not the time to be a chatter-box, he told himself as he watched Sebastian antagonize the hero.

"I suggest you tell me if you value your pitiful life," The man muttered through gritted teeth, his face a mere inch or two away from the scientist's. "I'm trying to find out why the fuck you took my boy and kill everyone involved for taking him away from me. If you even had half a heart you'd tell me who this fucking Declan character is."

"Your boy?" Sebastian flashed a smile. He felt his mind spiraling as a new-found power flashed through him. He had the control now.

Tony gulped, his presence faltering just barely. "Yes. Stop avoiding the inevitable. Now, answer me. Who. Is. Declan?"

Sebastian looked unaffected, picking at his nails and out disinterest.

"Our boss."

Tony tapped the table three times. Sebastian was a genius, though it didn't take one to recognize that it had been a signal for something. He looked towards the one-way mirror, feeling oddly self-conscious knowing the people on the other side were probably staring him down with hateful glances.

"Where is he, Davis?"

"We don't know," Sebastian nodded towards his brother, who startled and frowned at the words with a slight nod of his hands. "You're Tony Stark, right? Iron Man, I mean."

"What do you mean you don't know?!" He ignored the question.

"Exactly how it sounds, Stark. You guys came in, guns blazing, and we have no fucking idea where our boss is. Simple as that."

Tony was quiet, a rare tendency he had taken up as of late without Peter to talk to. He tapped on the table once more, though it looked random as opposed to the pattern he had been tapping earlier. Sebastian watched as his finger bounced up and down against the hard muscle in his thigh and wondered briefly if the man worked out despite doing nothing but fighting behind an iron suit. Thinking about his own thinning, padded thighs, he shakes his head and reminds himself that Stark would probably only exercise to simply flex, rather than enhance his fighting. A pitiful human being, really.

Tony bites his lip, his resolve falling as he looms over the two men, shrinking them both.

"Why did you take Peter?"

"Why did you let us take him?"

"Dammit!"

The gleam of crimson spurting from Sebastian's now-broken nose was the most satisfying sight he had ever seen. The crook in the cartilage; the way the blood seeped into the thin line of his lips; the glee of pain in his eyes; the way his teeth stained a haunting red. Tony glanced down at his knuckles, now bloodied and aching dully. His anger had gotten the better of him... and they called him a genius. A genius, perhaps, that couldn't even see passed the villains ploy. The billionaire chalked it up to being rightfully angry- no, rueful- at having to be the one to interrogate his mentee's kidnappers. He much would have preferred to have watched from behind the glass to and to pop in at the right second and beat the shit out of both men in some sick sort of extravagant entrance. Anything to see fear in both men's eyes... even if it meant holding a warming repulser to their faces and demanding answers. Oh, how he'd love to see them squirm.

Surprisingly, the door to the room never opened and Tony received no word from anyone to back out if he couldn't keep himself composed. It makes his heart stutter.

He digresses, for his thoughts are no longer on the fact that his team didn't care whether or not he hurt the scientists. Instead, he focused on the real problem at hand: getting them to break. While he wanted nothing more than to shut them up for good, they were the only ones who could provide any real answers until they could find Declan.

"I'll ask again," Tony bent down, eyes steely and not wavering from Sebastian's cold ones. Taking the handgun strapped to his ankle in his grasp, he straightened and held it on top of the table, a hardened frown forming on his lips. Lifting the weapon (which he had to admit, he was a bit afraid to actually use), he aimed it at Vincent's head, still glaring at his brother with a trying look. He would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the look of apprehension on Sebastian's face. "Why did you take Peter?"

"I-..." The man straightened in his seat. "I'll tell you if you just- just put the gun down. Please. D-Don't hurt him."

Tony raised an eyebrow. And here he was assuming these freaks didn't have the mental capacity to care about anyone but themselves!

"Why shouldn't it? You took something of mind, so it's only fair that I take something of yours. Doesn't that seem fair?"

"Because-... because I'll tell you anything you want to know if you-you promise you won't hurt him. P-Please. You can do anything you want to me, just don't hurt him. Don't kill him."

Tony prided himself in being selfish.

Well, "prided" wouldn't exactly be the right word. He was anything but selfish, truth be told, seeing as though he was a philanthropist who enjoyed donating to those in need whenever he could. It made him feel more human when he used what he had for good, rather than wasting it on expensive whiskey and useless vacation homes. In any case, he would not have felt pity for a tormentor. He wouldn't have cared who they were or what happened to them to make them turn out the way they did. Because at the end of a day: a bad guy, is a bad guy. That's why he didn't pity Loki. No, he hated Loki more than he hated space (which was at the top of his phobias, mind you). So, while selfish wasn't quite the right word either, it was the closest he could get to describing himself.

But for some reason, when he looked into Sebastian's eyes and watching as the irises wobbled and filled with tears, he lowered the gun and leaned back.

When the tears fell, he released the weapon and instead gulped and calmly spoke once more.

"I won't hurt him; I promise. If you answer all my questions truthfully, I promise you and your brother can..." He doesn't want to tell the man that he'll die, no matter how satisfied he felt at the thought. "...together."

"I will. Th-Thank you."

"Why did you take Peter?" He ignores the man.

"He wasn't the only one we took, but he was the most promising. Alpha- I mean Declan- was hell-bent on using him for our experiments. There was nothing we could have done to stop him. He wanted to make the world a better place, is all. But whenever we began the experiments, the subjects just kept dying before we got to far along, or their offspring were rendered stillborns or died right after conception. But Peter wasn't as fragile as the others, what with his enhanced healing and other factors. That kid was the only one who didn't die, even if he should have."

Tony raised an eyebrow, though he felt oddly proud at his son for being so strong for so long.

"What were the experiments?"

"Declan wanted to make an enhanced race of humans, well, mutants I suppose. The next generation were supposed to be better creatures than humans: stronger, faster, more intelligent and more resilient. They were supposed to be people who didn't need basic human needs to survive," Sebastian gulped, finding the surface of the table far more interesting. "It almost worked too. Peter probably would have been bred with a female subject and if my data and conclusions are anything to go by, the baby would have survived."

Breeding? Tony scowled. He wondered how people so cruel and sick were able to survive in a world like this. It's times like these he ponders the existent of any god of some sort, wondering how such a being could allow such sick humans to exist.

"How many other children were there?"

Vincent hummed. “Thirty-five, c-counting Peter.”

Sebastian glared at him, bumping thighs as a warning. “What he said.”

“And they’re all...” It’s unspoken. Tony can’t even say the word.

“Yes.”

“And you forced them to... with each other?”

“Yes.”

“How old?”

Sebastian sat emotionless, as if showing any remorse would somehow cause him physical pain. “Eighteen and under, if I remember correctly.”

Tony feels sick. It takes all of his being not to kneel over and spew the contents from his stomach. Thirty-five children, stripped from their families and forced to undergo torture like no other. A feeling of helplessness settles over him, and oddly enough, he feels like a baby bird left abandoned in his nest, with nothing left to do but die in utter loneliness. For some reason, he blames himself for the children’s death, though there would have been no way for him to even know about the kidnapping to begin with. He wonders if there were more, and if Sebastian was just lying to make it seem like a lesser deal.

The image of Peter’s dead, decrepit body is enough to have Tony nearly reading back to throw another punch. He doesn’t, but damn, was it enticing.

“You guys are a bunch of fucking freaks, you know that? How can you sleep at night knowing all those children you hurt are fucking dead? Are you proud of it, shit-face?”

“We were forced into it. If it were our decision, we wouldn’t have even known Declan.”

Tony finds himself to mentally strained to even begin to ponder if this was a lie or not. He does wonder, however, if he were to put Peter in the middle of the room and stand on one side while the two men stand on the other, who the boy would go to. He tries to tell himself that it’s him, but if the full ache in his heart is anything to go by, that’s a fib.

If there really is a god out there, Tony thought, you better have a good fucking reason for fucking me over like this.

_Meanwhile..._

Word spread quickly, and loudly, apparently, because Peter sits by the door to his room in the medbay waiting patiently to be brought back to his owners. They were here- he knew they were. Tony had been talking about it to Steve the day prior, when he had been drifting between sleep and wakefulness. Though, he was nearly positive that Tony believed he hadn’t heard a thing. Peter feels bad for eavesdropping and thinks that maybe he should just punish himself, seeing as though none of these new people were going to do it for him. Despite remembering little bits and prices of his (seemingly) life before the hole, he wasn’t about to abandon the lessons he learned while with Alpha, Echo and Charlie. People were unpredictable, he decided, and rather untrustworthy.

It was quiet. The tile floor was cold against his bottom, though covered with thick sweatpants, and he could feel the draft from the air conditioning into over his head beating against his hair. It ruffled over his eyes, long and troublesome. Tony had mentioned something about trimming it to keep his bangs out of his eyes, but he enjoyed the extra protection they served when he wanted to avoid eye contact. They were the perfect little set of curtains.

And so, he’d been waiting for nearly an hour before he begins to question whether or not they were actually coming for him. Did they still care about him? Did they still love him? He still loved them...

When the door opens, Peter nearly jumps in both excitement and apprehension.

Oh, he thinks grimly, it’s only Steve.

“Peter?” The older man’s eyes widen when he catches sight of the boy curled up on the floor by the door, arms wrapped around his legs, which were pulled faint to his concave chest. “What are you doing in the floor, son.”

“Waiting,” Peter says simply, meeting Steve’s bright blue eyes. “Are you here to take me back?”

Steve shakes his head, slipping to the ground and sitting criss-cross in front of the boy, hands shaking faintly. He takes a few glances across the young hero’s body to ensure he didn’t cause anymore damage by walking around, before letting out a breath of relief.

“You really should get back in bed, son,” He says instead of answering Peter’s question. “You’re too weak to be out and about. Come on, I’ll help you back into bed and Banner can help put your IVs back in. Did you take them out yourself?”

Steve barely noticed the twinges of red on top of the boy’s hands, signifying the use of an IV of some sort. But when he does, he feels indescribable fear at realizing what Peter had done.

“I-I’m sorry,” Peter whispers, eyes glassy and enlarged so much so, he looks more like a baby dear than a teenage boy, “I was just excited to leave.”

“To leave? Why would you want to leave, Peter?”

Steve, bless his heart, can’t help but feel his heart drop at the thought of Peter wanting to leave willingly. They had just gotten him back (painstakingly) and the boy was already itching to leave. What were they doing wrong? Why did Peter want to leave so badly? Rodgers felt his lungs constricting with every breath, a desolate feeling settling in his gut. He finally understood why some days, Tony could hardly function when Peter was gone. It felt as though he had a gaping hole in his chest, aching to be filled with the same warmth and child-like joy that had once resided there. He may not have known Peter as long as Tony had, but the boy grew on people quickly, it was nearly impossible to not fall in love within the first minute of meeting.

He wasn’t sure what type of hero he would he if he left Peter disappear again.

Hell, he didn’t even consider himself a hero for letting the boy slip away to begin with. He’d never admit that though, for his pride was to cherished.

“I have to get back to Alpha. I-I don’t belong anywhere else.”

Steve liked to think he was a strong person.

But he supposed even the strongest people had to break down and cry every once and awhile. Fat, hot tears rolled down his face a his cheeks flushed a horrible, hell-fire red. He felt his hands tremble feverishly in his lap as he and the younger male had a somber staring contest, both too afraid to open their mouths and disturb the silence.

“What did they do to you?” Steve whispers. He doesn’t expect an answer. He doesn’t want one.

Peter’s bottom lip juts out. He isn’t sure how to answer.

Steve remembers a time when the world was dark and desolate. It was a cold, barren waste land of nothing but dust and damp dirt, rough against his hands and blinding him painfully. He remembers seeing nothing but complete darkness for miles around, hope diminishing steadily at the realization that he was completely alone, left to die in demoralizing isolation. Then, when all hope seemed lost, he remembers seeing the faintest of lights gleaming at him; calling to him. It wasn’t a flashy light or obnoxious, but a mere ominous glow of what could be should he choose to follow said light. It was almost as if he had materialized the din light out of thin air, seeing as though there were no places it could have come from. His heart had swelled at the thought. Looking into Peter’s eyes, he finds himself back in that never-ending out of darkness.

This time, there is no light to greet him.

Out of the blue, the door swung open, causing Peter to flinch back and reel in fear. The infiltrator, however, didn’t seem to notice or care as she met Steve’s eyes. Natasha paid no loan to the cowering boy, eyes steely and offering no room for joy. She opened he mouth, soft lips bitten and chewed to oblivion from anxiety.

“We have a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! Haha! I feel evil... but hopefully an update will come sooner rather than later. I had to take a break from this story for awhile to work on my mental health, but I will try my hardest to get back on track. I apologize from the bottom of my heart for the long wait. I love you all and your comments are always so kind! I don’t deserve you all! I have been just itching to write Tony interrogating our favorite brothers and I’m satisfied with the outcome. Once again, I apologize, and I love you all boundlessly! Stay safe and healthy! :)
> 
> Feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lots of love- Lara <3


	10. Strength Versus Adaptability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony succumbs to the loss of one of the last bright things in his life while Steve makes a ground-breaking discovery about his so-called “bank”. Both end up losing their minds in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please look at the warnings, loves. There is some graphic content in his chapter and i don’t want to hurt anyone! But otherwise, please enjoy and look at the end for an author’s note :) (P.S. This chapter isn’t as heavily edited as the others, so there may be mistakes. Please ignore them, I’m trying to avoid staying on electronics for too long and editing takes a while- see end not for why). 
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Attempted Suicide  
> -Suicidal Thoughts  
> -Semi-Graphic Gore  
> -Blood

_Six months prior..._

"Where do you think you're going?" Tony grumbled, his hands clenching around a half-empty glass of Brandy, the condensation dipping into the ridges of his fingers cooly. He takes a sip, enjoying the burn as it rolled down his throat, grunting lowly upon realizing the drink had long since been watered-down and no longer had the same effect as before. The pain was no longer prominent. He reached for the bottle.

Rodgers glance over at him, mouth quirk to the side in thought. "The bank."

The man eyes the glass, his gaze never wavering. In the past, he may have reprimanded his friend for being so negligent to his health and reverting to old habits, such as drinking copious amounts of alcohol when he was stressed. Instead, he now thinks about how badly he wished he had his glass in his hand. The thought doesn't scare him- how could it? He was too exhausted to truly care about anything, and though he desperately wanted to down a whole carton of beer by himself, he knew it was no use. Alcohol didn't have much of an effect on him anyway.

"The bank," Tony recites, rolling the glass by the top with just his fingertips. "Mph."

"Why?" The blonde asks, stuffing his keys into his pockets. He didn't feel like walking today. He looks away from the man drowning his sorrows, not too keen on looking into the eyes of a corpse. "Do you need something while in out?"

Tony laughs, bitter and alcohol-laced.

"Do I need something while you're out? I don't know, Captain, do I? Why the hell could I possibly need while your out? To the bank? The fuck are you going to the bank for?"

Steve shook his head, wanting nothing more than to either offer his friend a knuckle sandwich or lead him off to bed to sleep off the drinks. He decides on neither.

"I'm still trying to get my account set up. There have been some... difficulties."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Scram."

Steve waits. He always waits because he knows what the next words are going to be and he always stays around to hear them. They keep him motivated. They give him a reason to get up in the morning and continue striving for his goals. They give him hope that one day, all will be right in the world because at least one of them is still trying. And as long as one of them still has the drive, they all can share it. But those words never come. Steve waits, and waits, and waits. And yet, he's left in compelled and utter silence.

A sign of failure.

" _Look out for Peter while you're out, will you?"_

_"Hey, uh, you willing to take a look around the block for Pete while you're at it?"_

_"Just look down the alleyways while you're passing by them. Just in case he's there."_

_"Find Peter, thanks."_

Each rendition had the same effect. Steve always listened. He'd pay extra attention to strangers; he'd check every alleyway; every shady spot; every thug. Just in case. It was always a 'just in case' scenario. Nothing was ever as straightforward as it seemed, and though Steve was normal quite content with this, he found himself dreading how confusing this case was turning out. Gone without a trace. How was that possible? Not a single lead? The security cameras were a bust. The police hadn't seen any unnatural behavior as of late. No increase in criminal activity. So, how could he just slip through their fingers so easily?

The idea of Peter running away was beginning to seem more and more likely as the days went by. No one had taken interest in him recently, so being kidnapped was out of the question. He either went with someone willingly or left by himself.

But why? Why would he run away? Was he unhappy? That couldn't be it! He was such a happy kid and loved everyone in his life.

As they say, Tony grimaced, those with the biggest smiles have the darkest minds.

Tony did not tell him to look for Peter, today.

The man is staring at America's symbol, a dark look hidden under his hooded eyelids, scouring into the larger man's soul. He kept his lips a thin line, brown eyes swirling with a mixture of despondency and anger; anger at who, exactly, Steve didn't quite know. Perhaps he was angry at the team for not finding Peter fast enough, because now, assumed dead, the police had stopped looking and SHEILD had more pressing matters than a missing teenager. Even if said missed teen happened to be one of New York's finest heroes. Besides, the organization knew the statistics on child kidnapping cases, and a hero or not, Peter was still part of that percentage. The chances of him escaping were slim to none, especially after all this time.

They stopped looking for Peter.

And life turned dull. It was no surprise how worthless life seemed when the boy you were supposed to be looking out for ended up disappearing rig under your nose. It was a humiliating feeling. Humbling. Tony had handled loss before; the loss of his parents, of Jarvis, and even his friends at one point or another. But there was something about losing Peter Parker that dig deeper than any would he had ever accumulated during a battle. The walls felt like they were closing in, suffocating him with drywall and crushing his home as they met in the middle, boxing him in.

Tony missed the way Peter used to speak about his day. It was as if every day was a special occasion- something out of the ordinary always happened. Well, as out of the ordinary as a teenage boy's life can get. Some days there was a car crash right outside of school because a kid wasn't looking where they were going. Other days it was something as simple as Flash Thompson getting the wrong answer when called upon in class. But it was never boring, sitting there and listening to how his day went. No, it was grounding.

The billionaire missed the way Peter used to gush about all his new ideas. It always astounded him how unbelievably smart the kid was for his age, though he supposed that he wasn't called a 'genius' for anything, and no normal kid could create their web formula from scratch. But it seemed like every week the kid was bursting through the lab dors with brand new ideas to further heroism. Tony couldn't have been more proud to call the kid his mentee.

A habit of Peter's, that Tony missed exponentially, was the way his legs bounced when he was nervous or stressed. There was something so heart-warming about watching the kid au the tension left his body and his leg came to a halt when Tony started to call him down. It was as if showing him that he made a difference; that he was meant for something. Another habit that he was less than happy about was the way he chewed the skin around his fingernails, and the older male had jokingly suggested they put rubbing alcohol on the skin to keep him from eating his flesh. Peter had grimaced and shook his head fitfully, claiming he would stop. He never did.

Tony wonders if he still bites his fingernails, wherever he is now.

Was it possible to bite your nails in Heaven?

Steve did not 'scram' as he was told to. Instead, he turned until he was facing Tony head-on, chin held high and muscles taint as he searched for the words he desperately wanted to say. They never came out.

"Are you sure you don't need anything while I'm out? Doesn't your medication need to be refilled?"

Tony scoffed. "Of course you'd keep track of shit like that. Whatever. No, I quit that crap awhile ago. It made me feel all... melty."

Steve held back a smile. "Melty? Well, that's one way of putting it."

Surprisingly, a small grin graced Tony's lips at the blonde's words. He shook his head fondly, rubbing at his eyes as if he hadn't slept in weeks (which may or may not be true). But there was light behind the gesture, something that helped Steve's shoulder calm until they were resting below his collarbone. He let himself smile. A ray of sunshine among an overcast sky; rare yet prominent.

"But, uh... you know if you wanted to you could, eh, get that refill."

Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Why the sudden change of heart? Thought it made you 'melty.' Hah, I can't get over that."

Tony smiled slightly, chapped slips stretched into a grin that held no joy and didn't reach his eyes. Like a doll with marble eyes and a painted-on smile, empty and blank. Steve looked away inconspicuously as he could, hoping the other man didn't catch on to his uncomfortable demeanor. The haunted look in his eyes made Steve regret even participating in the conversation, to begin with. Hanging around Tony was like stepping around the shattered glass, desperate to make sure that not a single sliver mare contact with skin. Still, he found himself bleeding out whenever he talked to the genius. Perhaps he needed to work on his tip-toeing abilities.

The slighter man shrugged noncommittally.

"They're supposed to help, right? Who am I to ignore the doctor's orders?" Tony shrugged, sipping from his glass before staring into its contents half-heartedly. "But you’ll get them for me, won’t you?”

Steve felt an uneasy feeling settle in his gut, but he played it off as the constant illness he’s been feeling ever since Peter disappeared.

“Of course,” Steve smiled wearily. “After I head to the bank.”

“After the bank. Go get your coin, Steven.”

Steve smiles, but it’s bitter. He knew Tony only knew that phrase because of Peter, so it sounded quite comical coming from the older man’s mouth. It also sounded quite sad. Like an echo of a memory that never existed, or a flashback of a time that he doesn’t remember living through. It felt like going to sleep, and not waking up until years later, lost and disoriented. Steve knows the feeling well. But hearing Tony say something so light-hearted and reminiscent of the boy he lost made the world seem bleak. Turned on its axis. Upside down.

He wonders why Tony wants the medicine when it doesn’t make him feel good. He wonders why he drinks himself into unconsciousness, even if the direction says not to consume alcohol while taking said medicine. He wonders why Tony doesn’t cry anymore.

“I’ll see you in a few hours. Take care of yourself, Tony.”

The man rolled his eyes playfully. “You act like I’m a toddler, Cap. I’ll be fine! Go on, go on! Get your shit figured out, man. Friday and I will be fine, won’t we, bud?”

“Of course, sir. I’m looking forward to it.”

“See?”

Steve looked weary but nodded and turned to leave, ignoring the shake in his hand and the way his heart was beating too fast to be safe. Something was wrong, he could feel it deep in his gut. The happy attitude Tony suddenly acquired was uncharacteristic considering what had happened in the last few months. He didn’t like it, as selfish as that sounded.

“Alright, bye, Tones.”

“See ya’! Wouldn’t wanna be ya’!”

And so Steve left a heavy feeling in his gut and a blistering headache cramming through his skull.

________________________________

Tony let his face fall from the conjured up smile he had forced onto his lips. Embracing the silence, he pulled himself away from

The counter and moved towards the stove, where the knife wrack laid deathly still and taunting. He stared at the wooden block for a moment before closing his eyes and taking a breath. He was just drunk. These were drunk thoughts- nothing more. He shouldn’t be afraid of them, is what he told himself, though he didn’t necessarily believe it. Thoughts like the ones he was having were scary in any sense- drunk or not. Still, he ignored the voice in the back of his mind telling him to grasp the knife, and instead chose to lay his head down on the cool surface of the counter, breathing deeply.

I just need to sleep it off, Tony told himself as his first and clenched and unclenched on top of the counter. The granite was cold and unwelcoming under his skin. Sleep it off, he thought again, and I’ll be fine by the time Steve and the others get home.

His face contorted slightly as his eyes skewed shut. A high whimper escaped his throat. Pathetic or not, he didn’t care. The fear and urge grasped him too tightly; cornering him until he had no choice but to comply.

He reminds himself that he doesn’t want to die in the kitchen.

In a sense, Peter had been the last straw. The very last thing that broke the camel’s back, sort to speak, and he hated it. Thinking back to when he first met Peter, he wants to scream. Getting attached wasn’t part of the plan. Hell, he was just supposed to help out at the battle and then go home, but after the events following homecoming, Tony found himself having trouble merely forgetting about the heroic teen. Who would? The boy was gravitating, inviting, and, as his Aunt May described it as, “totally squishable.” Tony agreed, upon pinching the boy's cheek one day as a joke and nearly falling it of his seat with laughter when the skin blushed pink and turned soft. Peter hadn’t found it that funny, but Aunt May and the billionaire sure did.

There was only so much a person could take before breaking, and Tony found it pathetic that it took him the presumable death of a lowly boy to squash him like a bug.

Tony wonders how long the seven stages of grief last.

It’s been months and he only just got over Stage One: Shock and Denial. An idiot move.

Stage Two: Pain and Guilt? That was a given, wasn’t it? It was his fault Peter had been taken, considering it was his technology that hadn’t been working, as well as his idea to let the hog go patrolling with his AI anyway. There was no one else to blame. A victim of proximate cause.

Step Three: Anger and Bargaining: Tony didn’t feel anger often. He was a relatively chill person who didn’t care much for unnecessary aggression or confrontation. And while he certainly wasn’t docile or submissive (no- he liked to put up a fight), causing drama wasn’t usually on his to-do list unless he thought it might be entertaining. Perhaps he was just arrogant, or perhaps, he was just evil. Tony didn’t know, nor did he care. But, he certainly had gone through the bargaining phase, as embarrassing as he convinced himself it was. I’ll never drink a drop of alcohol if it means Peter can come back! He had said as if some unworldly being was waiting around and listening to his plea. Humiliating.

Stage Four: “Depression”, Reflection, and Loss. It was here that he realized the magnitude of Peter’s death, and what it entailed. No more lab days, when all they did was share laughter, tell about their day and create new things, and fix the old. No more seeing Peter’s smiling face when he walked through the door, bright eyes wild and ready for the day. No more seeing his beautiful smile that had the ability to light up any room, no matter how bleak. No more late-night junk food runs, where they’d dress up to hide their identities and stalk up on sweets from a local convenience store just for the hell of it. No more movie nights, where popcorn was tossed among the room and Disney songs were sung at the highest octave. No more college searching in the dead of night. No more ruffling his hair or squeezing his shoulder. No more watching Peter’s face light up like a Christmas tree after he said a joke, or watching it fall when something reminded him of a bad memory. No more holding him as he cried, wondering out loud why people like Flash Thompson had to be so cruel to him when he had never done him any harm. No more soothing him down from a panic attack after having a flashback from the incident from homecoming, where he was trapped under the collapsed building, afraid and alone. No more sharing music tastes. No more take-out nights or dinners at all. It hits him, at one point or another, that the absence of Peter was akin to the absence of the sun. Nothing mattered, did it?

Stage Five: The Upward Turn. A sudden feeling of motivation and awareness that he hadn’t felt in what felt like years. A cleanse of strength and resilience. Realizing that the world doesn’t have to end with the loss of a loved one- that things can get better, and will. He had yet to reach this stage.

Stage Six: Reconstruction and Working Through. His mind may start working again, and the cogs will start turning. He was pure seek realistic solutions to his unrealistic problems and find ways to cope. The feeling of inspiration and determination will rush through him. He fears he’ll never make it to this stage alive.

Stage Seven: Acceptance and Hope. The possibility of Tony ever making it here was slim to none. He didn’t even think he wanted to make it here, afraid he may forget about Peter all together if he moves on. He’d rather wallow in memories than move on in ignorance.

But the world seemed kind of stupid now. Pointless, perhaps, with the obvious lack of Peter Parker around. There was a gaping hole where something previous and strong should be. A pillar of some sort that held everyone together. Glue. That was Peter, and Peter wasn’t there.

He felt as though he had been in that position for days, though when he glanced at the clock, he found that he really had only been standing there for about an hour, legs aching and back sore from slouching. He still didn’t move, afraid of what he might do if he did.

Tony glanced up with hardened eyes. The knives stared right on back. Taunting him.

He glared.

________________________________

If you asked Steve, he would have said if was any apparition. A ghost from the past haunting him and sentencing him to corporal punishment. And if you asked Steve, he would have said he was just going crazy.

Because he could have sworn he saw Peter poke his head out from the door behind the counter, just briefly before scuttling away.

Glancing around, he found the bank to be mostly empty apart from a half-asleep pregnant woman and and elderly man on the waiting area. He stared hard at the door, waiting for the boy to open it again to ensure he wasn’t going insane. It was Peter, alright. Big, glossy brown eyes filled with unshed tears. It just had to be him.

Steve found his eyes traveling towards the security camera in the corner, eyes focusing on the device beneath it. Was that an automatic gun of some sort? He furrowed his eyebrows. Something was amiss, and he wanted to egg to the bottom of it. Glancing at the door again, he saw it open, Peter- or not- looking at him with hollowed out eyes, dim and lifeless. Maybe it wasn’t Peter. The man behind the desk glanced at the boy, shaking his head at whatever he had said before grasping him bu the worst and dragging him into the back room once more. It just had to be him.

Steve felt a smile climb up on his face as he recalled that he and Peter had met gazes. The boy had to recognize him! The doubt rushed from his mind at remembering the event, heart palpitating in his chest as it threatened to burst out. They were finally getting somewhere.

Tony would be ecstatic.

________________________________

Tapping his foot, he found his heart rate rising the longer he stared at the cutlery, causing flashing through his head of blood slipping down his arms, staining his skin and dripping onto the clean floor, tainting it. He shakes his head, whining again as he buried his face into his arms. The vision doesn’t go away. The continuous flow of blood working its way down the underside of his wrist haunting him.

A way to escape. A way to avoid all the things he never thought he’d ever witness. Like Peter’s funeral, which was supposed to be held soon, though was postponed due to May’s unfortunate demise no more than three months earlier. Tony felt selfish and wondered if she did too.

The anxiety doesn’t go away as horrid thoughts face through his head.

It would be so easy to just-...

The tower was empty. He would do it if he wanted to without anyone there to stop him, sort from Friday. But there was little she could do apart from call for an ambulance, or for someone to come soothe him down. He panicked slightly, ducking his head lower before straightening up, shaking hands reaching forward. The top of his fingers grace the hilt of one of the knives, barely focusing the edge as he shuttered.

He hadn’t even realized he was crying. Tony didn’t bother wiping at the tears as his fingers wrapped methodically around the tool, palms loose with a sweat.

Was his pain so great? Was the loss so detrimental? Was it whether throwing his life away for? Would his death be an apology to all the people he couldn’t save? Would anyone care? Would it seem selfish to overshadow Peter’s death with his own?

He didn’t really care.

Tony just wanted the pain to fade and for the hollowness to finally be filled with something other than cold, barren space. And if that were selfish, then so be it.

He placed the blade at his wrist, mind whirring, wondering if he were strong enough to go through with it. If he was able to think about it- imagine it- then he should be able to go through with it. How many people would he be leaving behind all because of one kid? Throwing away his life for a boy from Queens who was way in over his head and in desperate need of a mentor. Was it worth it? Probably not. Did he care? Not a single bit.

The elevator door binged as the knife applied enough pressure to break the skin.

“Tony! You’ll never guess what the hell I saw at the bank! We have to call Fury and-and the others, I swear to God, I-... oh, my god!”

Oh, my god, was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Welcome back to another chapter! It feels great to he writing again. If you didn’t already know, I was suffering from a concussion over the last week so I hadn’t been writing because I couldn’t look at my laptop screen! I got it from playing soccer for my high school team :) I technically still have one, but no more symptoms! Yay! And now we have two cliffhangers! Haha, I feel evil. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I actually like it a lot for whatever reason. And I like torturing Tony ;) thanks for reading!
> 
> Feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lots of love- Lara <3

**Author's Note:**

> This is my new pride and joy. My baby. Please tell me how you all like it! If you didn’t, oh well, because I do and I think at least one of you will. Hopefully. You are all so nice, I don’t think it’s possible to get hate passed “there’s a typo”, haha. Some are exempt from that... but it’s okay. 
> 
> Feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Love you lots- lmc <3


End file.
